#mark 1 power armor
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The Aftermath
Part 3 of Six Months universe
Part 1: Six Months
Part 2: The Night When It Went Wrong
MDNI 18+
You groaned as you stretched, trying to crack your back. You’d been cleaning all afternoon, Carmy was still MIA, and this was the one thing you knew would distract you enough not to storm into The Bear demanding to know where your husband had been last night. You hopped up on the counter and grabbed your phone from the charger. A knot formed in the back of your throat when you saw a text from Carmy displayed on your lock screen.
Sorry about last night, baby.
On my way home.
“Okay. Fuck you, Carmy. At least you’re alive.” you mumbled to yourself before hopping down from the counter and going down the hallway to your bedroom. You knew the two of you would have a screaming match when he got home; you rolled your eyes at the thought. He was usually predictable; this running away from home debacle threw you for a loop. Since the fighting was inevitable, you opted to take care of yourself a little bit at least, and an everything-shower seemed like the move.
Pregnancy was hard; you were in a constant state of nausea, you were exhausted, you had almost daily migraines toward the end, and, oh boy… hormones were interesting. You gained a decent amount of weight, but loved how you looked. Carrying Mia made every body insecurity you had vanish. You felt powerful as she grew in your womb, and the feelings were only amplified by the way Carmy would caress your stomach at night when he’d get home from work. He’d pepper kisses across your stomach and talk to Mia as he helped you rub shea butter in an attempt to prevent stretch marks. You laughed about it now as you stood in front of the bathroom mirror. Cellulite, stretch marks, loose skin, and a c-section scar decorated your body. All those insecurities you’d thought vanished returned as soon as you showered for the first time post-partum. You didn’t want anyone to see you, especially Carmy.
You’d always been so secure in your relationship with Carmy. Something ignited within you when you saw him sitting at the bar by himself the night the two of you met. He was sexy and aloof. You had turned to your friend and told her, ‘I’m gonna marry that guy,’ and cocked your head in Carmy’s direction. She gave you a nod of approval, and you were off. He was shy and confused about why the prettiest girl in the bar would want to talk to some loner drinking a ginger ale instead of one of the guys coming up to her throughout the night. After months of casual hookups or late-night lounging around his apartment, Carmy found the courage to take you out on an actual date. After that, you declared he was your boyfriend. He admitted to being in love with you and was overjoyed when you returned the sentiment. Carmy was your knight in shining armor. You knew he was in your corner if you ever had a problem or needed to talk about something. It was you and him against the world, and it only amplified when he proposed to you. The two of you had a small wedding on the beach and decided to travel for a few months. When the two of you started dating, Carmy recounted tales from his time in culinary school- you were shocked that the man had lived in Frances for years but hadn’t explored the city beyond his campus or the restaurants he worked at. Exploring Europe together felt like a dream; it was everything you’d wanted to do with him. The two of you hadn’t planned on having kids, but after a couple of years of living as a married couple and buying your home, it felt like a natural progression to just ‘see what would happen’ if you got off of your birth control.
Now you stood in the shower while your mother took care of your baby and your bitch of a husband hid at work. You sighed and exited the shower, wrapping your hair in a towel and tying your bathrobe at the waist. You checked your phone to see no new messages from Carmy and that Natalie had left you on read.
As you blow-dried your hair, you couldn’t shake the thoughts of Carmy doing something dumb last night. You knew he’d never cheat on you, but the curiosity about where he’d gone was killing you. You took your time blowing out your hair and doing your skincare routine. As you brushed your teeth, you heard the front door open. “Hey… I’m home.” Carmy’s voice called through the house. Your stomach twisted at the sound. You took a deep breath and quickly put on deodorant before walking out of the bathroom in a pair of fresh pajamas. After contemplating jumping out the window to avoid this conversation from happening, you cautiously exited the bedroom. You went down the hallway to see Carmy washing his hands in the kitchen.
“Hey.” you grinned, rubbing your arm nervously. Carmy inhaled sharply before closing the distance between the two of you. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, feeling the stress of the day melt away as he took in the scent of your conditioner. “I’m sorry, baby. I shouldn’t have left like that,” he spoke into your hair. You sighed and hesitantly hugged him; he rubbed circles into your back and wished to go back in time and change what had happened.
“Where were you? You’ve never done something like that before- I thought you were dead or something Carmy.” Carmy tucked your head under his chin and contemplated what he should say. He knew he’d have to come clean eventually but wanted to relish in this moment.
“I just drove around and went to work early.” he lied, hoping you’d not push it further. Natalie had ripped him a new one when he’d confessed the details of his indiscretion. She ranted about how she’d feel if Pete had treated her like that; she’d kick his ass to the curb. “You realize she’s gonna leave your ass, right? You absolutely can not sleep at my house- Carmen Anthony Berzatto, you’re no better than Dad.” before he could respond, Natalie threatened to kick his ass if he didn’t come clean to you about what happened. Carmy wanted to tell you, but being compared to his father was something he hadn’t expected Natalie to say. He didn’t know the guy that well, but he knew a little about the cheating. He didn’t have a second family or kids outside his marriage with Donna, but he saw the hurt it put her through and vowed never to be like the man. Now he stood in his kitchen holding his wife- the love of his fucking life, lying about his whereabouts from the night before. Yeah, he didn’t get past third base, but would he have gone all the way if he had gotten hard? Would you constitute this as cheating? Would you leave him and keep Mia from him? He pushed the thoughts back and pressed his nose into your hair. He took in the scent of your conditioner, just in case this was the last time.
You pulled away from the hug and nodded, “Okay. I trust you, but never do something like that again. You scared the crap out of me.”
Carmy and you sat at the dining room table that night and talked about your insecurities postpartum and that while you were medically cleared to have sex, you were nervous about the actual act. He nodded, and you felt vindicated. You kissed his cheek and headed into the kitchen to order dinner. Carmy grinned and fished his phone out of his pocket. He deleted his text chain with Selena and quickly blocked her number before you came back to ask if he had any preferences for dinner. Carmy shook his head, “Whatever you want, baby.”
The two of you ate dinner in the living room and watched the newest cheesy romcom on Netflix. Carmy sat back and took in the moment. It was like when the two of you had started dating. You’d always had some kind of freelance video editing job or some other creative endeavor that gave you a good amount of flexibility in your schedule. No matter how late he’d get off, you were always down to come over, watch a movie, eat takeout, or whatever new recipe he was trying to perfect. You explained that quality time was your main language, so as long as you were together, you were happy doing whatever with him.
As the movie continued, you’d put your head on Carmy’s chest and held onto his waist. He had an arm around your shoulder- he stunk of his usual kitchen smells and smoke, but there was another scent you couldn’t quite place. “I should probably shower if you wanna cuddle, baby.” he laughed as you pushed a hand under the hem of his T-shirt. Carmy had long forgotten about the hickey that decorated his collarbone. You hummed in disagreement, “Your BO is comforting Carm…”
Carmy laughed and kissed the top of your head. Carmy tapped your shoulder as the movie ended, signaling he wanted to get off the couch: “I need a shower, baby.” He shifted in his seat, and you looked up at him. “Kiss me?” you asked, looking up at him through your lashes. Carmy swallowed and hurriedly nodded as he gently placed his lips on yours. You smiled into the kiss as the taste of tobacco and spearmint flooded your tastebuds. You removed your hand from under Carmy’s shirt and put it on his cheek. Carmy wasn’t sure where to put his hands. This felt like a 180 from the previous day, confusing and excited him.
You threw a leg over Carmy’s hips to straddle him as the kiss turned more passionate. Carmy’s hands found your hips; his touch felt like electricity shooting through your body in the best way. You pulled away from the kiss, gently pulling Carmy’s bottom lip between your teeth, eliciting a deep throaty moan from him. You ran your hands down Carmy’s chest. He closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation of your nails tickling his skin through the material of his shirt. “Still need me, baby?” you asked, leaning in to kiss Carmy’s jaw. “Still need to be inside of me?” you said as you trailed kisses up his jaw toward his earlobe. You felt his cock harden beneath you as you rolled your hips against him. Carmy’s grip on your hips tightened at the sensation, “Please, baby.” he whined. You giggled at his response and slowly swirled your tongue around Carmy’s earlobe before leaning back on his thighs. Carmy leaned back into the couch. His eyes were dark with lust as you reached for the hem of your shirt, quickly discarding it.
Carmy’s eyes widened at the sight of your bare breasts, “Fuckin’ hell, baby.” he muttered. You bit your lip as Carmy stared at you, “Can-can I-” Carmy began to stutter before you cut him off by bringing one of his hands to your chest. “Fuck.” Carmy laughed as he snaked an arm around your waist to bring you closer. You giggled as Carmy massaged your breast in his large, calloused hand, “Baby- fuck, you’re so sexy.”
You moaned softly as Carmy gently pushed you back onto the couch before trailing delicate kisses down your stomach to the top of your pajama shorts. As eager as he was to remove them, he still felt like he was dreaming. Your eyes met and you nodded, Carmy bit his lip holding back a groan. He swiftly yanked the soft cotton material down your legs to reveal your lack of panties. He smirked as he spread your legs wider and stared down at your core like a starved animal.
“Carmy?” you asked softly, “Do you want me to stop?” he responded, hoping you would say ‘no.’ You shook your head, “Be gentle?” you whispered. Carmy nodded, “Of course, baby. Say, stop, and I will…”
Carmy put your legs over his shoulders and nuzzled his face between your thighs, placing delicate kisses against your folds. Your legs shook as he ran his tongue up to your clit, “Mmm,” you hummed as he took your clit between his lips. “Oooh,” you moaned as Carmy slowly pushed his index finger into your entrance. Your reaction only fueled Carmy’s desire to please you. As your juices flooded his tastebuds, you bucked your hips up against his mouth, making him moan against your clit.
“I need you,” you whined, pulling at Carmy’s hair. Reluctantly, he pulled his mouth away from your heat. “What do you need me to do, baby?” Carmy teased. You giggled as he moved to hover above your body. You pulled at the hem of his T-shirt, wanting to feel his skin against yours.
Carmy’s body tensed. You noticed the color drain from his face, the weight of his actions from the night prior finally hitting him. “Are you okay, Carmen?” you asked as you stopped pulling at his shirt. He nodded, “Yeah-h.”
You didn’t believe him. “You’re being weird. I don’t care that you’re gross from work. I want you.” You looked into his eyes and could sense he was hiding something from you. “I’m not being weird,” he said defensively. You shook your head, pushed up at his chest, and sat up against the arm of the couch. “You literally left last night because I didn’t want to have sex- now I want you and you’re being fuckin’ weird. Take your clothees off and fuck me.” you demanded, Carmy swallowed and sat up on the couch. He shouldn’t have let it go this far, you rolled your eyes and yanked his shirt off.
“What the fuck is that!” you screamed when you saw the dark purple hickey decorating his collar bone, Carmy stared at you nervously. “YOU FUCKIN’ LIAR!” you screamed louder pushing yourself off the couch picking up your T-shirt from the floor.
“Baby, I swear—I didn’t—" Carmy explained as he scrambled to his feet as you walked down the hallway toward your bedroom. Your blood boiled at the thought of Carmy fucking another woman last night while he was ‘getting air,’ “YOU’RE A FUCKING LIAR GET THE FUCK OUT OF THIS HOUSE, I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD CARMEN!” you screamed at the top of your lungs as you glared at him as tears started to fall from your eyes. Carmy’s face regained color and softened in reaction to your screams.
“Y/N, it was a mistake! We didn't have sex because I couldn’t get hard-” Carmy attempted to explain the situation, and you shook your head in response. “That’s fuckin’ bullshit! Get out!” you screamed through your tears.
Carmy dropped to his knees and reached out for your hand. You slapped it away and ignored his begs to hear him out and let him explain what had happened. “No. No. I don’t want to- that’s why you wanted to fuckin’ shower so bad, right?! Didn’t want to fuck your wife with your dirty fuckin’ cock you fucking liar!” you screamed as you attempted to pull your wedding ring off of your finger. When it wouldn’t budge, you screamed in frustration and slammed the bedroom door.
Carmy fell back and brought his knees to his chest, the weight of his actions truly hitting him when you had tried to take off your wedding ring. He really had ruined his marriage. Carmy heard your sobs through the door as he got up, “Y/N- it was a mistake. I love you. I love you so fuckin’ much-”
“GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE CARMEN! I FUCKING HATE YOU!”
~
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#the bear#carmen berzatto#carmen berzatto imagine#carmy berzatto#carmy the bear#carmen berzatto one shot#carmen berzatto x reader#carmy berzatto x reader#carmy berzatto imagine#carmen berzatto angst#carmen berzatto fluff#carmen berzatto smut#carmen berzatto x you#the bear hulu#the bear fx#carmy x reader#carmy smut#carmy berzatto smut
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Headcanon thingy, but how would the companions + Gortash react to their lover taking a blow meant for them? (Sweetheart survives, but they'll definitely need some time to recover)
this post would get realllyyyy long if i did all the companions so i did the male companions + gortash, but let me know if u want me to do a separate one for the female companions too 💗💗
GN!reader, small mentions of violence
GORTASH
he’d prefer for you steer clear of any conflict— he considers it beneath you to get your hands dirty— but he doesn’t like to argue. he imagines one of these times you’ll learn your lesson, meaning he’s fully expecting you to come crawling back after a good whooping while promising to never do it again
when he’s approached by an angry subordinate, shaking their fist and yelling profanities at him, he easily maintains composure— he knows his steel watch could reduce anyone to a skid mark on the earth with a simple command. his scrappy sidekick however…………… 👹
he’s only slightly embarrassed when you jump in front of the aggressor, telling them off for their disrespect. suddenly their anger is directed towards you, resulting in a nasty pop to the face that sends you onto the floor. his eyes widen at the sight of you injured for his sake, and with one sharp inhale, he orders his steel watch to destroy your attacker. (and their family. and their friends. and their acquaintances)
he stays at your side while you get bandaged up, threatening the healer’s life every time you wince. he asks what you learned from this experience, hopeful. you think “i need a thicker skull” probably wasn’t the right answer, seeing as his immediate response is “🗿” LMAO
WYLL
he loves to be the one who swoops in and saves you. it really gives him that “heroic” feeling (even if you have to pretend to be his damsel in distress). you guys are always giving your enemies the ick 😹😹
this all goes to his head though, and he can get a little too cocky— like when he jumps in to take on too many enemies at once, and is clearly having a hard time defending you both. he tries to maintain his heroic persona, but you can’t help noticing how you two are getting backed into a corner
while he’s distracted and putting on a show of chivalry, you see an enemy going straight for his blind spot. it’s too late to retaliate, but you do have enough time to jump out in front of the attack. he watches you fall to the ground in pain, HORRIFIED by the fact that he failed to protect you. he forgets his knightly act in a fit of desperation, fighting as dirty as he needs to so you two have the opportunity to scamper away
he criticizes himself SO badly over your injuries. the hit may have broke your face but his failure broke his soul... 💔 LMFAO. he vows to you that it’ll never happen again, and that he’ll be more vigilant than ever from then on out— cue his extremely rigorous and inspirational training montage
GALE
he usually stays toward the rear during battle, using long range magic attacks while you take care of things in the front. he’s not adept at wearing armor and his robes don’t offer much protection— it’s just smarter this way
now imagine how his feeble wizard bones begin to quake when an enemy sneaks past you and sprints his way with a melee attack LMFAO. he’s a planner, not an improviser, so his brain races a million miles a minute trying to think of which spell to use. he needs to cast something powerful, but your close proximity makes him hesitate
you notice his stutter and quickly reach out to off the enemy. unfortunately, this results in you turning your back to another and opening yourself up to a sneak attack. you’re hit hard, and it takes you out of the fight. luckily, the last enemy has 1 HP, so he can easily finish them off with a hasty bop on the head from his staff 💥
afterwards, he’s STRICKEN with worry, cradling your face and trying to get you to speak to him clearly. once he realizes that your injury is healable, you get whiplash from how fast he switches back and forth between admiration and concern. “that was absolutely amazing! 🤩 ” “I THOUGHT YOU DIED!!! 😵”
ASTARION
you guys are super playful in battle. seeing who can kill the most enemies, doing fun combos together, trash talking (it’s giving legolas and gimli). fights with him on your team are rarely serious
he’s quick and alert, so he’s an expert at dodging attacks— it just so happens that you’re standing behind him one of these times, and you end up taking the full force of the blow in his place. he’s used to teasing you for your misfortunes in battle, so his first instinct is to point and laugh 😭
when you don’t get up and give him a bloodstained grin, he realizes something is seriously wrong. a wave of panic washes over him, and the last thing he remembers is switching into feral vampire mode to get you two out of there safely— i’m talking ripping out throats with his teeth 👹
you’re immediately scolded once you come to; “imagine how bad that could’ve been!”, and “you scared me half to death!”— a.k.a he feels SO BAD for letting this happen LMAO, and he 100% blames himself for not knowing you were behind him. he admits it was his fault after you promise to be more careful, and he promises that he will be too (with a little leg room for fun, of course)
#I LOVED WRITING THESE SO MUCH OMG#bg3#baldurs gate 3#baldurs gate headcanon#astarion#enver gortash#wyll ravengard#gale dekarios#astarion x reader#enver gortash x reader#wyll ravengard x reader#gale dekarios x reader#x reader#my headcanons#asks
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Krang Will Rise
I have a couple theories, regarding the Krang.
There is such little evidence for it, that I don’t even think there’s evidence against it. But hear me out.
I think only Krang prime can abolish mystics. It’s not an ability tied to every Krang, only to him.
Thé Krang value strength above all else, putting no remorse into losing those deemed weak. As such, wouldn’t that make Krang Prime, their leader, the strongest? And what better way to deem yourself the strongest than carrying a unique ability that takes away your enemies greatest potential threat.
Another reason: it seems there are three types of krang. The biotech, the warrior, and the interrogator. I’m not sure how much they overlap, but I do think they carry specialities. Given krang brother is most often asked to- spread their krangness. He is responsible for krangification, domain expansion, and manipulating the technology they have (Nevermind how all these abilities make him the perfect match for Donnie)(also think Krang Brother is mute). Krang sister is the most skilled and best fighter. I’m sure she outclasses the boys in that regard. I’d go as far to say she’s second in command, leading the charge while brother krang stays behind (her role as commander matches as Commander O’Niels opposite in war, hence their quarrel). Leaving Krang Prime, who has the ability to dig into a persons mind, manipulate their captives, control the hive mind, and abolish mystic powers. Perhaps rare amongst Krang, this makes them the perfect leader (do I even need to explain why he’s Leo’s main antagonist, his opposite in every way?).
I mentioned how krang brother is likely responsible for krangification, which leads me to a second point. Clearly, from the start of the invasion to the end in the bad timeline, the krangs numbers increased 100 fold. From 3 lone survivors to hundreds if not more. Which has led me to wonder how krang are created. I have two theories: 1) in the bad timeline, the krang in the prison dimension didn’t die. Meaning that when Leo grabbed the key in the movie, and altered time, the resulting explosion caused the krang to be wiped out. 2) the probably more likely one- they repopulated.
Thé krang are clearly parasitic creatures. Meaning their reproduction is likely from a source, that source being humans. “Recreating this world in the image of krang.” Krang possession is simple, and any krang can do it, latch a bit of themselves to a human and start the battle of wills. Krang dogs are amother easier way to make more, a quick process that mangles the hosts body. We see this happen with the foot clan. But if you want powerful krang, with no chance to turn on you, and to truly become one with krang, you transform them.
Raph was found in a bubble. In a slimy krang cocoon stuck to the ceiling and filled with glowing yellow goop. He was going to be turned, transformed into Krang. And he was going to be powerful, his source material being stronger than most. He was- until the process was interrupted. Notice how the krangification didn’t come from the outside, it wasn’t attached, it was growing inside him. And, unlike the other krangified peoples we saw, his eye turned purple. It wasn’t just covered in hoop with the yellow hive mind eye, it was purple. Let it be a testament to Raphs inner strength cause he very well may have accomplished a feat deemed impossible to overcome. The process wasn’t supposed to be reversible, he wasn’t supposed to be able to break free, he was krang now. Krang Prime could feel his struggle, sense his resistance, and hear his thoughts as the turtle fought it off.
Once you turned, there was no going back. You were krang. Your old life didn’t matter. Your old friends didn’t matter. You had a new family. A new purpose to fulfill. New powers to explore. And given treasures for the hunt. The mark of a krang and a fucking massive piece of armor. This way of reproduction was useful when hunting new prey, as their knowledge of the species past through, truly allowing them to know their enemies and conquer planets. Krang can never die.
Then again. I could be wrong.
——————
Thanks for reading! Likes and Reblogs appreciated! Other related theories and stories:
Resistance to Krang; The Shredder armor; Emperym Life Blood
#wabbystuffpost#rottmnt analysis#rottmnt theory#krang#krang 1#rottmnt krang#krang raph#krang 2#krang 3#krang prime#krang brother#krang sister#krangified#Krang will rise#this gives me an idea#anyho#future timeline#bad timeline#commander o'neil#but that’s just a theory
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Chapter Four: Knight Titus
Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - Ch 7 - Ch 8 - More Coming Soon
Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Reader
Summary: A chance encounter with the Brotherhood of Steel allows you to escape the gulper and continue your journey.
Tags: Slow burn (and I mean SLOWWW), angst, eventual smut, language, canon-typical violence, more tags will be added
Posted on AO3: Smoothie and The Ghoul
Word Count: 1.4k
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”
“My lord! I’ve got you! Knight Titus!”
“I’m going in! I got you!”
Muffled shouts and piercing screams echo through the air as the gulper you've been trapped inside starts to emit a deep rumble. Suddenly, the creature violently regurgitates you, along with its stomach and its contents spilling out. Gasping and retching, you find yourself drenched in gulper bile.
"How the hell am I still alive?!" you shout, bewildered. "And why does it have so many damn fingers?!"
"Who are you?" a nervy man asks, clutching the head of the doctor.
"That's my head, give it back!" you demand, reaching for it, only to have your hand swatted away by another man. Looking up, you see a towering Knight of the Brotherhood standing over you.
"Oh, it's the flying garbage can," you remark nonchalantly, recognizing the distinctive power armor of the Brotherhood from the claw marks you had observed when the knight had soared above you a few days earlier.
"Do not show disrespect to my lord! This is Knight Titus of the Brotherhood of Steel! And I am his squire, Thaddeus!" the squire interjects, his voice filled with righteous indignation.
"Shut up, you little weasel," you retort.
"What's a weasel?" Thaddeus mutters to the knight, his confusion evident as he seeks clarification on the insult hurled his way. In response, the knight simply gives a shrug.
"Who are you, and how did you end up inside that gulper?" Knight Titus demands, his voice resonating with authority.
"I don't have time for you tin cans!" you dismissively huff, frustration evident in your voice as you lunge at Thaddeus, causing him to shriek in terror. The dog, miraculously still present, begins barking loudly at the commotion. Amidst the chaos, Knight Titus remains motionless, silently observing the scene.
“My lord! She’s feral!” Thaddeus cries out in fear, clinging to the head.
"Just give me the damn head! And stop squealing like that," you demand, your voice laced with irritation as you mindlessly slap Thaddeus in your disoriented state. As a seasoned bounty hunter, you are typically much more composed and intimidating, but the ordeal of being trapped inside a gulper's stomach has left your mind foggy and your actions uncharacteristically erratic.
You hear heavy footsteps approaching, unmistakably the sound of power armor. Knight Titus lifts you up by the collar of your shirt, leaving you suspended in the air while Thaddeus manages to stand up.
“Why are you so mean?” Thaddeus exclaims earnestly.
“She’s a bounty hunter,” Knight Titus confirms, his tone steady and authoritative as he presumably looks you over. It’s always so hard to tell what those damn Brotherhood Knights are thinking. Without warning, he offers a brief apology before delivering a powerful punch to your face, sending you spiraling into unconsciousness.
Head pounding, you gradually sit up and survey your surroundings, realizing that the two men and the head are nowhere to be seen. Even the dog has skipped out on you, leaving you alone. Luckily, your bag is still with you, and you begin to rummage through it in search of any meds. Upon finding the vials you used to bribe the ghoul, now broken and rendered useless, you let out a frustrated breath. "Yeah, he definitely wasn’t coming back for me," you mutter.
With a sense of relief, you salvage a single stimpak and a supply of rad-away from your bag and use both items. Covered in a grimy mixture of gulper bile, dirt, and dried blood, you realize that it's definitely time for wash. Seeing no signs of any creatures around, you determine you’re in the clear to safely wash.
Without bothering to shed your soiled clothes and armor, reasoning that they could use a good wash as well, you wade into the cool waters of the flooded ruins. The water envelops you, washing away the layers of grime and filth that cling to your skin and clothes. The coolness soothes your aching muscles and clears your mind.
After what feels like an eternity, you emerge from the water, feeling slightly refreshed. As you step out onto the dry soil, the sun begins to set, casting a warm glow over the wasteland. You begin to wonder where the ghoul could’ve gone. He obviously dragged the vault dweller with him and needs more of those vials. Unfortunately the few vials you had you scavenged off of feral ghouls you took down so you truly have no clue where one goes to purchase them.
Your boots squish with every step, a sensation you despise, but there's little you can do about it. Glancing down, you notice that your clothes are worse for wear, prompting you to make a mental note to buy something new, by wasteland standards, at the next settlement you come across. You sort through your bag, discarding any broken or unnecessary items. All that remains is some ammo, a canister of somewhat purified water, a small stash of caps, and the Pip-Boy you seldom use. I wonder if there's a Super Duper Mart nearby, you think to yourself.
Throwing the bag over your shoulder and ensuring your weapons are secure, you set out in search of a store to scavenge. Concerned that your weapons may be too soaked to function properly, you make sure you still have the large hunting knife strapped to your thigh. The darkness begins to descend, but you remain determined to press forward, keeping a watchful eye for anything dangerous.
As you navigate through the fading light, your eyes scan the horizon for any signs of civilization. The wasteland stretches out before you, a desolate expanse of ruins and decay. The only sound is the distant howling of the wind, carrying with it the haunting whispers of the forgotten world.
The landscape begins to change, the remnants of buildings becoming more frequent. You spot the crumbling remains of what was once a small town. You check each building cautiously but nothing of value is found. In one building, you come across a dead ghoul with a gunshot wound to the head and… whose ass cheeks have been stripped for meat. This world is unforgiving but the idea of resorting to cannibalism is something you simply cannot fathom and hope to never encounter.
Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a decrepit stairwell and carefully head upstairs. At the top, a cozy setup greets you - a dirty mattress, an oil lamp, and a few old yum-yum deviled eggs. This must have been the makeshift home of the ghoul from below. Despite his grim fate, you're thankful for the somewhat snug spot to rest for the night. You aren’t too concerned about whatever cannibal stripped him of meat since they are most likely long gone by now. Settling down on the mattress, your eyes grow heavy and you swiftly fall asleep.
As you slowly awake to the morning light filtering through the boarded-up window, you feel a tugging sensation on your left leg. Startled, you look down to see a tiny radroach attempting to nibble on you. Reacting quickly with a loud shriek, you kick its face and draw your knife, stabbing it repeatedly until it stops moving. Taking a deep breath, you lean back against the wall and open the yum-yum deviled eggs. Chewing through them, you defiantly welcome the day with a loud “Good fucking morning to you, too, wasteland!”
After finishing the deviled eggs and taking a swig of water, you prepare for the day ahead. Double-checking the contents of your bag and inspecting your weapons that had gotten wet the day before, everything appears to be in working order. Satisfied, you descend the stairs and step out through the front door. The scorching heat of the day is already intense, with the sun's rays beating down on the sandy ground. Your attention is drawn to a trail of footprints, two distinct pairs, which prompts you to follow out of curiosity.
With each step, the trail of footprints becomes more defined, leading you closer to the ruins of a city. The skeletal remains of skyscrapers loom ahead of you, their shattered windows like hollow eyes, observing your progress. The trail winds its way through the eerie maze of desolation, navigating past rusted cars and collapsed structures. Before you know it, you hear a man and woman talking up ahead in front of a Super Duper Mart. You quickly hide behind a nearby building and peer around the corner
It’s that fucking ghoul and vault dweller.
Tag List: @fallout-girl219 @ellabellabunny123 @sunnexaltation
#not my best chapter so I apologize#but it leads to a much better chapter that has... a hint of romance#cooper howard x reader#the ghoul x reader#cooper howard#the ghoul#fallout#smoothie and the ghoul
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Theory about Lilly
In MotM there is a statue of Lilly present in Heart of the Mountain.Now let's take a closer look at it:
Markings.Does it remind you of anything?Here's a clue:who else was close to their elements and has/had markings on their face(and body)?
These two:
There are two explanations for the markings on her statue:
1.Artistic choice of munce and geckles that built it,maybe the face markings are meant to be hair strands and other markings are details like armor and clothing.
2.Lilly almost merged with the earth and markings on the statue are referencing that.
First of all,her statue does not resemble others in the temple:
Their markings are armor/clothing details and are identical,but unlike Lilly's.Not to mention that spinjitsu burst and merging look similar:
Doesn't that look like a spinjitsu?
So,I think Lilly almost merged with the earth. The reason she didn't lose herself?My options are:
1.Gleck,who was her friend,saw that something was wrong and interfered before the transformation was complete,likely using Lilly's medallion to remind her of her family.She snapped out of it and later left the medallion with Gleck as a thank you gift.
2.She wasn't supposed to/can't merge with the earth.This comes from my hc that only those with direct ties to the source of power(water and wind elementals&technically Lloyd but only bc he's just the first to have energy and grandson of FSM) and tame elements have changed hosts many times over the course of history(The hc is in my Wojira lore theory post).Therefore,her mortal body couldn't handle all that power and the connection was cut off.
3.Both of the previous options combined in some way.
Now,as to how it might have affected her.She died from an illness right?The one we never learned anything about.Don't you find it strange that a young,powerful and perfectly healthy elemental master(who are seemingly stronger than a regular human in many ways as we've seen ninja recover from things that would leave a normal person seriously injured if not dead( Cole even had a car drop on him in s5, recovered from concussion in Crystallized and his fall in Oni trilogy)) suddenly fell sick?(that is not to say that I think em can't get sick,they are still only human after all)And doesn't a forcefully and/or abruptly cut off connection between an elemental and their element sound like something that might have negative effects on one's health?
(There are many reasons why Cole and Nya didn't have similar experiences.Earth may not have called to Cole as strongly due to being filled with vengestone/Cole was too busy fighting to listen to it's call/he ignored it/whatever you think.Nya didn't have health problems bc she didn't have the 'can't merge with element' limitation,was already merged and Aspheera draining her powers cut off the link enough for her body to have time to adjust before restoring that elemental connection.)
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L'amour et la Mort
Chapter 1
The years of King Arthur’s reign had been, so far, a largely peaceful time. Granted, the first half-decade or so after Uther’s death had been wrought with strife, remnants of his cruel regime which stained his son’s hands red. The battle of Camlann, and the defeat of Morgana, had marked a distinct shift in the balance of the world. Light began to pour where darkness had festered for a lifetime, seas too treacherous to sail once again gentled, poisoned fields were found to have nutrient-rich soil; nature itself had begun to heal. Some of the more faithful scholars, ones who still followed the Old ways, believe that this change had been paid for in blood, could have only ever been paid in blood.
Followers of the Old Religion have held many beliefs throughout the ages, some less sensible than others. They preach that royal blood, truly royal, holds a certain weight against the natural order of things. One ruler’s death will plunge kingdoms into centuries of depravity, while another might pave the way for an age of enlightenment. After all, the weight of royal words, of royal actions, hold much more power in them than any other person’s. Where else should that strength come from, if not their blood? Camlann had soaked its fill of Pendragon strength, between Arthur and Morgana, and the world had flourished because of it. Even in the long, terrifying months of the king’s recovery, no attacks had been waged on Camelot’s borders, the other nations of Albion instead vying for favor with the young ruler.
The first few days after Camlann were not easy for anyone in the realm. Merlin and Arthur had arrived weeks before the army returned, on a damned dragon. Only the sight of their wounded King being carried in thinly-muscled arms had kept the castle guards from striking against the creature. Several hands had tried to pry Arthur from his manservant’s grasp, none successfully, as Merlin carried his friend to Gaius’s chambers.
“What happened,” the old man had gasped at the sight of his bloodied apprentice, seeing through the dirt and grime to the naked fear on his downturned face. He immediately motioned for the guard who had followed them to clear the workbench, knowing that the next hours would be long and uncomfortable for every party.
“He was stabbed.” The words fell from Merlin’s chapped lips like a death sentence, eyes never leaving his King’s face. A single tear dropped onto Arthur’s cheek, trailing down his cheek as if produced from his own sorrow. Gaius raked his eyes over Arthur’s body, finding that the blood was covering too fully to see where the wound lay. He pointed a bony finger to the table, now cleared, a gesture which Merlin had never needed before. Usually, after so many years of working side-by-side, his apprentice moved almost before he even knew which direction to tell him.
“Merlin, you must let go.” The words seemed to float by Merlin unnoticed, his focus on the King unwavering. “Merlin, I cannot help Arthur if you do not put him down.”
“I can’t,” he whispered, voice breaking over the syllables like waves on a rocky shore. “I’m not sure I can keep him alive if I let go.” Gaius felt a sharp intake of breath as wide, golden eyes met his. This was much worse than he had feared.
“You must,” he pleaded, “set him down, hold onto him if contact is needed, but I cannot work if I cannot see the damage.” The words, at last, seemed to convince Merlin into action. He took short, unsteady steps to the table, and laid his King down without letting go entirely. Arthur’s gloves had been removed, at some point, and Merlin’s first clenched around limp fingers like a prayer. At once, Gaius began ordering the guard to help remove his King’s armor, cutting his shirt off entirely so as to not disturb whatever fragile stasis Merlin had upheld this long. “What happened, my dear boy?”
“Camlann was worse than I imagined.” His voice was still shaky, but seemed to steady itself as he regaled the battle. Gaius took his tale in stride, nodding along in encouragement as he cleaned Arthur’s skin enough to see the wound’s extent. He listened as graciously as he was able, barely pausing as Merlin recounted laying waste to Morgana’s army, and the lady herself, with lightning. His apprentice spoke of a sea of bodies, of barely arriving in time to be of any use at all, of being too late to help Arthur when he was most needed. “They’re dead,” the words shattered over thin air as Merlin spoke them, seeming to finally run out of whatever strength he had pulled out of himself.
“This wound should have killed Arthur,” Gaius whispered, feeling every year of his life in contrast to his young King. He had birthed this boy, now a man, had held his squalling, naked body as Uther mourned his wife. The only thought which seemed to rise above the cacophony in his head was a prayer, to anyone who should listen, that his old hands would not carry Arthur into death as they had life. “Merlin, what exactly have you done to keep him breathing?”
Merlin let out a heavy, unsteady sigh, scrubbing his free hand down his face roughly. “I’m not sure, really. I called for Kilgharrah after Morgana found us in the forest. He brought us to Avalon, and Freya told me to place Arthur in the lake’s waters. It took all three of us,” he swallowed against the words, trying to push past the lump which had lodged itself in his throat at the sight of Mordred’s sword embedding itself into Arthur’s stomach. “He was just barely alive when I got there. If anything had held us for even a moment longer.” Merlin’s words trailed off, a haunted look marring his face. The gold still had not bled from his eyes, and it seemed, to the old physician, that the impossible magic his boy was performing had become second nature, much like anything else regarding Arthur’s safety. “We did what we could, but he was still unstable. Freya told me that I already had the power to keep him from passing, and then I just started keeping him.” Gaius’ eyes flicked up from where he had been examining the wound, now as clean as possible with the slow trickle of blood leaking onto the table. Merlin’s eyes were locked onto the gash across Arthurs gut, glowing impossibly brighter against the fading light filtering into the room. Gaius motioned for the guard to light the room’s plethora of candles, so that he may continue to work as dusk fell. Instead, every single sconce in the room burst into flame simultaneously, Merlin’s concentration on the King remaining unbroken. The guard flinched towards the door, nodding curtly at Gaius’s instruction to wait outside in case anything was needed of him. His eyes once again fell to the injury, widening as the candlelight threw the wound into more clarity. The skin was slowly stitching itself together, vessels and musculature repairing itself in a shocking feat of magic.
“Merlin, my boy, how are you doing this without an enchantment?”
“I don’t know. I can’t stop.” Another gulp, another shaky exhale. “Every time I think it’s better he starts fading away.” The picture in front of Gaius suddenly sharpened into a horrific reality. The wound, as Merlin had described it, was given days ago. Even the greatest sorcerer of all time, and Gaius had seriously begun to doubt that even those words were enough to encompass all of Merlin’s abilities, could not uphold this magic for long. His mind raced, coming up with contingencies and platitudes that might convince his boy to release his hold on Arthur’s life.
“Son,” he began, “you-”
“I can’t do this for much longer, can I?” His words, more sobs than syllables, cut off Gaius’s explanation. “I can feel it, magic was never supposed to best fate.”
“No, my boy, I would imagine not.” The words lingered in the still air, riding the chill to sink into their very bones with the grim truth.
“He’s not gonna make it, not just with medicine.” It wasn’t a question, yet Gaius felt the need to answer anyway.
“There is a chance, Merlin. Arthur is strong, and much has already been done.”
“Not enough.”
“It could work.”
“No,” he shivered, a brutish exhale ruffling rust-stained blonde strands. “I’ve seen better odds rob men just as strong as Arthur of their lives, I cannot risk that with him.”
“You cannot go on as you are, it is too slow, you could kill yourself in the process.” Gaius’s statement seemed to shake something loose in his apprentice, a prayer angering the gods.
“It doesn’t matter, Gaius. I am nothing without him.” He did not shout, though Gaius had expected it. His words instead came like a wave, slowly building onto themselves until they grew strong enough to sink fleets. “Camelot cannot survive if he is gone. The Once and Future King, that’s what Kilgharrah had said. Gods dammit, Gaius, that future will come to pass in my lifetime if I have to kill Death himself. He doesn’t get to die like this, not here and not now. Arthur will die at the age of eighty, warm in this castle, surrounded by heirs, and he will not leave me.” Merlin finally seemed to break at the end, raking in a harsh gasp to keep himself from devolving into senseless wails of anguish.
A moment passed, maybe an hour, in which the only sound was Merlin’s sharp inhales and shaky exhales. Gaius knew, as much as he knew his own name, that this was something he could not sway the boy on. Merlin had always been reckless in his care for the King - Gaius had often wondered if either of them would ever pull their heads out of their arses long enough to see why - and in this, Merlin was surely unmovable. His mind raced, finally landing on a solution which seemed most likely to grant both of his boys to keep their lives.
“Okay,” he began, golden eyes once again snapping to attention. “You’re right, this wound is still too risky to try and heal with science. Magic is the only solution.” He raised a hand as Merlin opened his mouth, to protest or add his own opinion. “Listen to me. Whatever it is you’ve been doing these last few days is too slow, and it’s not sustainable. You need to fix as much as you can, as fast as you can, and let me do the rest. It will be a slow process, depending on how much magic heals, but I cannot see another way.”
Merlin looked back down to his King, his friend, his Arthur, and visibly tensed when he realized the plan’s validity. He nodded, not breaking his gaze, and readjusted his grip on Arthur’s hand. His voice tore out of his chest, ancient words that he had never consciously learned filling the air like a dragon’s roar. A wind stirred in the room, sending pages of notes and vials flying into the tornado that had formed around the workbench. The light from Merlin’s eyes grew too intense for Gaius to look at, and he shielded his vision as his apprentice pleaded with Magic itself to save the man in front of them.
As instantaneously as it had been stirred into chaos, the room fell silent once again. The candles, shockingly untouched by the vicious wind, lit the mess left in magic’s wake with vivid detail. Merlin had slumped forward, unconscious, his head falling just beside Arthurs, hand still clutching the King’s. Gaius immediately moved forward to assess the damage to Arthur’s abdomen, calling for the guard to move Merlin to his cot. It was nowhere near the first time either boy had been under his care, but having them both unconscious, splayed in front of him and injured, made his chest ache in a breath-stealing way.
He could not afford to lose his focus, working with experienced hands to fix as much of the crevice in Arthur’s flesh as humanly possible. Merlin’s magic had done a lot of good, most of the dire internal problems repaired in an instant, but the blood started to trickle in steadier streams as arteries began flowing once again. Gaius flashed a look to Merlin, not liking the deathly pallor to his ward’s skin, or the apparent stillness of his chest.
“Guard! Wash your hands! I need your help.” The young knight squared his shoulders, peeling off his gloves and following orders deftly. Gaius instructed him to press and cauterize where it was needed most, all the while thinking how Merlin wouldn’t have needed instruction to aid the physician. Gaius stitched muscle and skin back together, pouring tonic after tonic down Arthur’s throat in an effort to replenish as much blood as possible. He whispered a quick prayer to the Old gods as he worked, begging with the skies for the survival of both his sons. After several dozen minutes, seeing that the King’s wounds would hold for the moment, he moved to check on Merlin’s ashen form.
“Merlin! My boy,” Gaius wept, finding that against every science he knew, his body had grown cold in mere minutes. No breath filled his lungs, no pulse beat in his chest. Gaius allowed one solitary, earth-shattering moment to mourn the boy in front of him, pressing his wrinkled lips to a glacial brow, before moving back to the King.
As Gaius worked, and weeped, the kingdom held bated breath for news on their sovereign. Kilgharrah had flown back into the forest, knowing that his master would call when he was needed, and every soul which lived under the castle’s shadow had flooded the city. Time had seemed to trickle through the citadel as molasses, peasant and noble alike holding constant vigil outside the palace walls. Hours passed, dawn enrapturing the skies in a beautiful background to one of Camelot’s darkest days, before an announcement was made.
Gaius stood on the dais where Uther had condemned thousands, looking over the tear-stained faces that matched his own, and made his proclamation.
“The King was mortally wounded in the Battle of Camlann. It is thanks, only, to his manservant, and my apprentice, Merlin, that he shall survive. He remains unconscious, but the blow dealt to his stomach would have killed any lesser man before the battle’s end. Merlin protected his King until his last breath, using the magic which the gods had given him to heal as much as he could.” Gaius paused, raking his eyes over the crowd to find familiar faces, who would all hold fond memories of his boy in their hearts. “Merlin has faithfully served the throne of Camelot since his arrival in the citadel nearly ten years ago, and has given his life to ensure the survival of the Pendragon line. King Arthur will have a long recovery in front of him, but he shall live.” Cries rang out, both in joy at the news of their King’s health and misery at the loss of Merlin, and Gaius felt his own eyes moisten at the thought of his body growing colder in the physician’s cot. He could see many faces of shock at the admittance of Merlin’s magic, though Gaius supposed that riding in on the dragon had already clued most in on the worst-kept secret in Camelot.
The long walk back to his chambers gave Gaius time to adjust to the gaping void in his chest. He knew exactly how many years he had lived, how much loss he had endured, yet never before had the old man felt old. Now, in a world without Merlin, he could feel every second of his life weighing against his back, turning his movements sharp and painful. The council would need to meet, soon, to discuss how to proceed with the nation’s rule while their King remained unconscious, but Gaius did not dwell on these thoughts for long. He exhaled as he entered his chambers, still wrecked from the aftereffects of impossible magic, and abruptly halted where he stood.
“Will he live?” The corpse had pulled a chair over to Arthur’s side, once again grasping his hand in a white-knuckled grip. Gaius felt his heart stop and start in the space of a breath, and nearly fainted at the sight. Merlin, his Merlin, was sitting up, with enough life flowing through his veins to look worried over his King’s prone form. The physician held no reservations as he raced to envelop his boy in a bone-crushing embrace.
“Merling, oh Merlin, you’ve come back,” he cried as Merlin’s arm came to wrap around him, hesitating for a brief moment of curiosity.
“What do you mean, Gaius? I was on the cot the entire time.” Slowly, the old man released his apprentice, searching his face with a haunted look. “What? Is Arthur going to be okay?”
“My boy, the King will make a full recovery, in time, but you.” Gaius paused, not sure how Merlin would take the news that he had been dead for ten hours. “Merlin, you died. That spell, whatever you did, you were dead for an entire night and morning.”
Blue eyes widened, so large they might have popped out, and Merlin let out a noise of shock. “That’s impossible,” he whispered. “You must be mistaken.”
“Your body was cold almost immediately, Merlin. It was as if you had given your life to Arthur. You haven’t had a pulse, nor a breath, in ten hours. You were dead.” Gaius could see the cogs turning behind Merlin’s brow, processing what this meant for him. The old man’s mind suddenly threw a memory to the forefront, of treating Merlin for the deadly serket sting which should have killed him. Their eyes widened simultaneously as the truth of the gods’ will revealed itself to them. “Surely, you don’t think-”
“Oh, I do think.” A thunderous expression crossed Merlin’s face, his fist clenching even tighter around Arthur’s as he glanced at the unconscious King. “When has anything about my life ever been normal? Why should my death be any different?” Gaius winced in sympathy, reaching to offer comfort with a hand on his apprentice’s shoulder. They both fell into a contemplative silence, pondering the extent to which the gods would see their prophecies fulfilled, and watched as their King slept.
Suddenly, a chuckle burst forth from the physician’s lips, causing Merlin to shoot a wounded expression his way.
“Are you laughing? I cannot die and you’re laughing in my face?”
“I’m sorry, my dear boy,” Gaius began, stifling the unbidden humor as much as possible and forcing a calm expression onto his face. “It does appear,” a smile cracked across his face, and he cleared his throat in a bid for sobriety. “I mean to say, that is, I might have just announced to the entire citadel that you nobly gave your life to save Arthur.”
A dumbfounded expression fell over Merlin’s face, before a sudden bout of laughter erupted, surprising both master and student.
“I did!” They fell into hysterics, both men clutching each other until their sides ached. Merlin supposed, at some point, the court would need to be informed of his apparent immortality, but at the moment he could not care less. Arthur was safe, Gaius was strong despite his growing years, and Camelot faced no immediate danger. Surely, the coming weeks would reveal heartaches and wounds not yet scarred, but for now, as the laughter slowly died and the only father he’d ever known moved to brew tea, he was choosing to be optimistic.
#l'amour et la mort#super nervous to post this actually#please comment your thoughts i love feedback#my fic#fanfiction#fanfic#wip#current wip#work in progress#unfinished#merthur#bbc merlin#merlin#merlin emrys#uther pendragon#kilgharrah#arthur pendragon#morgana pendragon#ahhhhhhhh
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This story started with Guthláf, Théoden’s banner bearer. To carry a flag in war was (in LOTR and real life) very dangerous, and it got me thinking about the kind of person who would willingly take on that danger and why (see here for Guthláf’s answer). And then I got thinking about what it would be like to love that kind of person and have to watch them do something so brave and glorious and selfless but also so perilous. And that brought me to Wídfara.
Like Guthláf, Wídfara exists in canon for just a few sentences. He’s from the Wold. He’s intuitive about the weather. That’s it from Tolkien. But I do so love an obscure horse boy of Rohan, and two together is even better. Here they are in part 1 of 7, where our boys have their first meeting.
August, T.A. 3017
When he’d taken a third wrong turn in as many tries, Wídfara finally decided to ask someone on the street for help. Unfortunately, getting anyone in Edoras to stop to answer his questions proved even harder than finding his own way around the city. It wasn’t that people were unfriendly or unwilling to assist, but rather that they didn’t seem to even notice him as he tentatively raised a hand or stammered out the beginnings of a greeting. Everyone walked so quickly and with such a busy sense of purpose that they were invariably four steps past him already by the time he got his first few words out.
A quick glance up at the sun told him that he was going to be late if he didn’t get himself together soon, and the last thing he wanted was to make a poor impression on his very first day. He already had enough working against him – his simple country clothing, his thick rural accent, his obvious cluelessness in navigating his way around, all of which marked him clearly as an outsider – and he didn’t need his new éored thinking that he was careless or unreliable on top of everything else. He shifted his pack on his back, hastened his steps around another corner and felt a wash of relief at the sight of a garrison complex with the king’s banner flying in front.
An older man, clad to the waist in armor and standing with a rigid military bearing, waited on the front steps of the central building, just under the banner. His eyes scanned all the passersby, and when they landed on Wídfara they lit up with a spark of intuited recognition. The rigidity melted away in an instant, and he beckoned Wídfara over with a smile and a welcoming wave.
“I’m on the lookout for a new rider just in from the East-mark, and I would bet my horse that you’re him. And right on time, too. My name is Elfhelm.”
Wídfara dropped his pack and stood to attention. For all that he didn’t know about Edoras, he certainly knew the name of Elfhelm, the commander of the garrison and the functional First Marshal of the Mark any time the king himself wasn’t present. “Yes, Marshal. I just arrived in the city last night. My name is Wídfara, sir.”
Elfhelm’s bushy eyebrows shot upward at the distinctive heavy twang of Wídfara’s words. “The Third Marshal told me he was sending us a real country boy, and I see that he wasn’t exaggerating. Where exactly are you from, son?”
Elfhelm’s open, casual manner took Wídfara by surprise. Back home, his captain had been a rather grim man, one who never spoke an unnecessary word or showed his riders even a hint of his own personality, and Wídfara had expected the leaders of Edoras, some of the most powerful in the kingdom, to be even more stern. But yet again, it seemed, he simply had no understanding of how life in the capital actually worked. “I’m born and raised in the Wold, Marshal,” he answered. “My family has run herds out there for generations. It’s quite…” He glanced around at the bustling rush of people moving in and out of the collection of buildings around them. “It’s different from the city.”
Elfhelm nodded with a sympathetic smile. “Well, that’s certainly true. I imagine that Edoras can seem a little overwhelming at first to someone who’s spent his whole life in a place like the Wold. And an éored reordering is never easy on anyone. Saying goodbye to the people and places you’ve always known is a rough task.”
Wídfara swallowed hard on the lump that immediately formed in his throat. It had been less than a week since he’d been forced to say those goodbyes, gathered together with family and friends and brothers-in-arms out near his old post in the plains where the Limlight joined the Anduin. The Wold had never been a thickly populated area – the land was too unforgiving, the semi-nomadic lifestyle of the herdsmen too harsh – but as more and more families moved out of the grasslands and into the East-mark’s larger settlements and towns, an independent éored for the Wold had become increasingly unsustainable. No one had been particularly surprised when the reordering was announced, but it had been painful nonetheless and especially so for Wídfara. Because while his friends were reassigned to one of the three surrounding éoreds in the Eastemnet, all within a few hours ride of home, he had been singled out for transfer to Edoras, a place so foreign to him that it might as well have been Dunland or Rhûn.
His face seemed to betray some of his thoughts to Elfhelm, who put a large, comforting hand on Wídfara’s shoulder. “Change can be tough, son, but it also presents opportunity. And you’ve been given a golden one here. It’s not often that someone gets called up to the king’s éored – I can only remember one other time that it happened, and my memory stretches back longer than you’ve been alive. But your old captain was adamant that there isn’t a finer mounted bowman in all of Rohan and it would be a waste to just reassign you to yet another remote outpost. If you’re even half as good as the men of the East-mark claim, you can make a real name for yourself here.”
Wídfara felt his face grow hot, and he looked down at his feet. No one had told him how this transfer had come to be, and the thought of that dour, taciturn captain singing his praises to anyone was almost more than he could believe. And while he was proud of his own talent, he felt an instinctual urge to defend against the implication that the other riders of the Wold were any less skillful. “Everyone who grew up where I did learned early to shoot from a moving horse, sir,” he offered. “A herd will always attract wolves.”
Elfhelm chuckled. “That may be so, but your captain didn’t convince the Third Marshal of the Mark to send just any old herdsman to us. He picked you. Try to remember that.” A bell behind him tolled, and he glanced toward the door over his shoulder. “I need to get back to some other business, so we’d best get you on your way. You’ll be living in Barracks A with the other unmarried men of the company. You can drop your belongings there and then head over to the armorer to get everything you need. Training starts tomorrow at sunrise.”
“Thank you, Marshal.”
Elfhelm was already halfway out of sight before Wídfara realized that he had no idea how to find either Barracks A or the armorer. He considered calling after Elfhelm for help, but the marshal had indicated that he was busy and surely his other tasks were more important than giving basic directions to an ill-informed newcomer. Instead, he reshouldered his pack with a sigh, resigned to wandering the complex until chance took pity on him again, and he took a few hesitant steps toward his left.
“Other way, Wídfara!”
He looked up to see Elfhelm watching him from the doorway, one foot already inside and the door itself held open with his elbow. The older man laughed and nodded in the opposite direction. “Second building on the right. Can’t miss it.”
A furious blush rushed back to Wídfara’s cheeks, and he winced as he felt it spread across his ears and neck. “Sorry, Marshal. I’m still…I’ll learn my way quickly, I promise.”
Elfhelm stepped back outside, allowing the door to close behind him as he walked a few paces toward Wídfara again. “It’s alright to be new, son. You just need someone to help show you the way of things here.” He cast an appraising eye over Wídfara and chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip for a moment. “Keep an eye out for Guthláf. He’s from Edoras, but his mother grew up in the Eastemnet and he spent much of his childhood out there. He even talks a lot like you do. You’ll like him, and he’ll help you get to feeling like home again.” He turned once more to head inside.
“Marshal Elfhelm?” Wídfara called after him. “How do I find him? Guthláf, I mean.”
Elfhelm looked back over his shoulder and smiled. “Anywhere there are people gathered, he’ll be right in the middle of it. You can count on that. He’s one of our best, and he’ll take good care of you. Just don’t let him talk you into playing dice with him unless you’ve got money to burn.” He pulled open the door and his last few words drifted out from the hallway. “See you at training first thing tomorrow!”
Wídfara rolled over again, grimacing as his left shoulder made contact with the floor. One of his first tasks that day had been to see the garrison’s armorer, where he had been fitted for new equipment and received the distinctive tattoo that would identify him as a member of the king’s éored: a small crown above a hill. Each éored had its own mark, used as a crude means of identification in the event that a rider was injured or killed far from home, and the armorers typically etched the designs onto the shoulders of new members, punching a small ink-tipped needle repeatedly into the skin to create the necessary lines and curves. The new tattoo left a lingering pain in Wídfara’s arm, though it was minimal compared to the ache he felt in his heart when he watched the armorer draw a line through his old éored’s mark, casually crossing out an entire decade of his life with a few minute’s quick work. But that had just been the start to an increasingly difficult day.
The éored’s clerk seemed unaware that Wídfara had joined the company, and no arrangements had been made yet for his pay. Wídfara was counting on those funds to support his parents back in the Wold, especially now that he was no longer close enough to help his father with the herd work during his free hours, and the possibility that his first wages would be significantly delayed left a sour feeling in his stomach. Then he had gotten lost on his way to the mess hall and again between the mess hall and the stables, where he discovered that the stablehand sent to fetch his horse from last night’s boarding house had brought back the wrong animal. At every turn, he seemed to be in the wrong place, with the wrong information, running into obstacle after obstacle while being constantly asked to repeat himself as the city dwellers struggled to understand his accent.
He had greeted the eventual coming of night with urgent relief, happy to retreat to the privacy of his little room in the barracks where, at least for a few hours, he knew where he was supposed to be and what he was supposed to be doing. But even then, he struggled. The small, soft bed in the room felt unnatural to him after so much time spent sleeping rough in field camps or out on the plains with his family’s horses, and he quickly gave up on it, crafting himself a makeshift bedroll on the floor instead. After an hour of further tossing and turning, though, he realized that the bed wasn’t the only thing that felt wrong. A windowless box barely big enough for both the empty bed and his nest of blankets on the floor was a poor substitute for having shimmering stars overhead and endless golden plains around him, and he wondered how he would ever find rest in such a confined little space. He sat up, frustrated, and decided to take a walk in an attempt to clear his mind.
The streets, at least, were much more enjoyable to him at night, when few others were out and about. It was quieter, and he could walk at his own pace without worrying that he was holding up someone behind him. Keeping close attention to where he turned and how to retrace his steps, he headed up a hill, thinking to get a good view of the city from the top of the rise and perhaps be able to better orient himself amidst the maze of the city’s layout.
It took only a few minutes from the barracks to reach the peak of the hill, but he was disappointed to find that the view down onto Edoras and the surrounding plains was largely obscured by a thin haze in the air and heavy overhead cloud cover that dimmed the light of the moon. The quiet of his walk was also broken by the presence on the hill of a small tavern, a little wood and stone building from which drifted not only the smell of ale and baked bread but the clamor of voices and laughter and singing. The windows were aglow with warm yellow light, and he could see a large and boisterous crowd inside, many members of which seemed to be about his age. He considered going in – his rational mind understood that the only way to make friends in new surroundings was to put himself where other people were – but the thought of dozens of bodies pressed into such a small building made him a bit panicky, and he had already used all the energy his mind could spare that day for navigating the stares, questions and sometimes the judgments of so many others. That would need to be a challenge for tomorrow instead.
He leaned against a corner of the tavern and gazed northeast, back toward the beloved home that was now obscured by the intervention of both distance and weather. A gentle breeze blew from that direction, and he closed his eyes to savor the soft feel of it against his cheek and in his hair. There was a clean, earthy scent to the air, and he willed himself to believe that this sign of a clearer morning on its way could also mean that good things were on their way for him.
At that very moment, the door of the tavern flew open, bouncing noisily off the wall, and a tiny gray dog scampered out, followed by the striding figure of a man in the uniform of his éored.
“I just need to let Slaga out for a minute,” the man called back to unseen companions inside. “Hold the game for me, and I’ll be right back to finish taking the rest of your money.” A laughing chorus of boos rang out as the door swung closed again, and the man chuckled to himself.
Wídfara registered the stranger’s words as they were spoken, but what flooded his heart with joyful recognition was the lilting drawl of their delivery, the comfortingly specific cadence and tone that represented Rohirric as Wídfara’s ear had always heard it voiced. It was the sound of his cousins calling to him from across the grasslands, his friends teasing and joking as they sat around a fire at night. It was the sound of his old life, and he wanted nothing more than to hear it again.
The other man was crouched down now, cooing affectionate endearments at the tiny dog that bounded in adoring circles around his feet, and Wídfara lightly cleared his throat. The man froze at the sound, the last doting little trill dying on his tongue, and he smiled sheepishly when he looked up and saw Wídfara standing just feet away. “I’m sorry. I thought Slaga and I were alone out here or I surely would have kept that to myself.” He stood and extended his hand in Wídfara’s direction. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. I’m Guthláf.”
Guthláf. The name chimed immediately in Wídfara’s memory, and he smiled to himself at how effortlessly correct Elfhelm had been on all fronts – where Guthláf would be found, how soothingly familiar he would sound to Wídfara, and how quickly just a few words of that familiar sound would kindle a feeling of comfort and kinship in him. He closed the distance between them with a few steps, and in the dim light that shone from the windows he found himself face to face with an unusually tall, well built man with long blonde waves, a trim blonde beard, and striking eyes of the palest blue. He gripped Guthláf’s hand with grateful enthusiasm and smiled. “Wídfara. You wouldn’t have seen me before, as I only just got here.”
“I certainly don’t have to ask where you came from,” Guthláf said, and Wídfara thought he detected a slight strengthening of Guthláf’s matching accent in the reply. “Welcome to Edoras, Wídfara. What brings you here?”
Wídfara nodded at Guthláf’s uniform. “I’ll be joining your company starting first thing tomorrow.”
“Is that right? We’ll be glad to have you. The boys could use an eastern rider to show them how it’s really done.” He glanced down briefly at the dainty little dog that was now cautiously sniffing Wídfara’s boots. “Don’t hold it against me. The absurd fussing with the dog, I mean. Every man has an embarrassing weakness, and I guess Slaga is mine.”
“Think nothing of it.” Truthfully, in any other circumstance Wídfara would have found both the toy-sized dog and the indulgent spoiling of it a little ridiculous, but he wasn’t about to say that to the first person in the city to take any interest in him. Outside of Elfhelm, who as Wídfara’s commanding officer was certainly no peer of his, it had been a struggle that day just to be noticed by anyone else, let alone engaged with or welcomed. Wídfara was eager not to squander this opportunity, especially with someone who seemed so friendly and good natured. “I love dogs and have nearly always had one myself, though admittedly never one that size.”
“He is small, isn’t he? I got him when he was a puppy and expected him to get bigger as he got older, but he just never did. And by the time I realized I had myself a lapdog, the rascal had already worked his way into my heart.” He bent down and scooped Slaga up into his arms, where he quickly settled with the look of one who spent a lot of time in just that position. Wídfara reached out and gave the dog a gentle rub behind the ears, which was received with a small, contented sigh.
“He doesn’t usually like strangers,” said Guthláf, looking up with a smile. “But then again, you’re not a stranger anymore, are you, Wídfara of the East-mark?”
Wídfara couldn’t identify anything unusual or remarkable about the way this question was asked, nothing that would explain the sudden rush of warmth that settled over him when that open, earnest smile was turned in his direction. But it was there all the same. “Not a stranger, at least not in the technical sense. And I would hope one day to be a friend, though I wouldn’t presume to call you that yet.”
“No? Why not?”
“You barely know anything about me.”
“But that’s not a problem. Discovering things about each other is half the fun of friendship.” He inclined his head and fixed Wídfara with a long, thoughtful look. “And I have a feeling there is much to discover about you.”
The steady gaze of those cool, blue eyes sent an anxious flutter shimmering through Wídfara’s chest, and he looked away. Before he could muster the nerve to speak again, the tavern door opened, and a red-haired head popped out.
“Guthláf, if the game doesn’t restart soon, Hildred insists he’ll take his losses back and charge you interest for making him wait.”
Guthláf laughingly rolled his eyes and waved a hand in concession. “Buy him another ale from my pot and tell him I’ll be right there.” The red haired man nodded and went back inside, and Guthláf turned once again to Wídfara.
“Do you ever play dice? If you’ve got the time now, you can join us, and by the end of the game you’ll have ten more great friends, I promise. Though I can’t promise I won’t take your money.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I’m something of a professional.”
Wídfara laughed. “Believe it or not, I’ve already been warned against playing dice with you, and I don’t know the rules anyway. But I appreciate the offer.” The temptation to stay in the kindly glow of Guthláf’s company was strong, but the tumult of the busy tavern still intimidated him. And the length of the day, with its many ups and downs, was beginning to catch up with him at last. “Will I…or, rather, I hope I’ll see you at training in the morning?”
He cringed inside at how needful the question sounded to his ears, but if Guthláf heard it that way he gave no sign. Instead, he smiled broadly and tapped a fist against Wídfara’s arm.
“Of course. I’ll look for you there, friend. Now wish me luck, not that I need it!” He and his dog slipped back inside with a wave, and Wídfara watched through the window just long enough to see them disappear into a rowdy group of men, all wielding mugs and talking excitedly to one another.
Alone again, he turned then to retrace his steps, mercifully finding his way back to the barracks without incident, and he stretched out once more on his floor with a heavy yawn. The weight of sleep closed in on him quickly, and he soon drifted into the comfort of peaceful rest, where a pair of the palest blue eyes lingered in his dreams.
Link to part 2!
Notes: Guthláf’s dog is named Slaga, which means “Killer.” Presumably he chose that name before he realized his “puppy” was already full grown and would always be a lil’ tea cup.
@emmanuellececchi @konartiste @sotwk @dreambigdreamz (I don’t usually have a tag list but I tried to @ people who had specifically requested it at some point — if you want off (or on, I guess) don’t hesitate to say so!)
Dividers by the lovely @quillofspirit ♥️
#guthláf#wídfara#rohan#forth eorlingas#obscure blorbos#♥️🐎🗡️#horse boys in love#lotr#lord of the rings#tolkien#guthlaf#widfara
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Warm
Pairing: EvilTitan!Bi-Han x Johnny Cage | ColdStar
Fandom: Mortal Kombat 1
Rating: Mature
Tags: Major Character D*ath, Angst, Hurt & Comfort, Non-Consensual touching and marking, Implied character d*ath
Parts: One-Shot
Disclaimer: FOR THE LOVE OF GOD AND EVERYTHING THAT IS HOLY, MIND THE TAGS AND WARNINGS
READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED
His frozen minions bring the struggling actor into his own personal quarters, the actor spitting obscenities and cursing them to Netherrealm and back, being unceremoniously thrown down on the floor, his minions leaving and shutting the door behind them.
This, Johnny Cage, stares at him defiantly, brown eyes full of life and emotions and a warm dagger of pain twists in Bi-Han's ice cold heart, slowly walking towards his captive, taking off his gloves and mask. Sub-Zero circles his captive taking in every visible detail, cold finger tips touching a warm cheek and Johnny flinches away, but Sub-Zero is undetered, trailing over exposed skin, running his fingers trough hair that are not deathly white.
Sub-Zero's white yes meet brown ones - there's still the steely defiance but now there's fear - and Johnny Cage tenses, awaiting whatever is coming in next.
Sub-Zero picks him up by the collar of his uniform, presses him against the wall and kisses him. Johnny Cage fights, bucking his body to try and shove him off, turning his head away to escape the unwanted kisses, but it only gives Sub-Zero more warm skin to map and when Bi-Han finally captures Johnny's lips in a kiss, Johnny fights harder, biting at Bi-Han's lips until he draws blood, trying to knee Bi-Han anywhere he can.
But eventually....Johnny finds out that fighting is futile and Bi-Han's heart sings.
---
Although the previous alternation between them didn't go without a fight and Johnny found out that it did not matter how much he fought, it did not amount to anything.
But his fighting spirit was not broken.
A bruise was forming on Bi-Han's jaw from the punch he had recieved from Johnny when he untied his hands to tie them at the front and to take off his upper armor, but was quickly subdued with an ice dagger to the throat and a believable threat whispered into his ear.
They were laying down on the sheets of Bi-Han's king sized bed, the two of them spooning, Bi-Han having a nice view of Johnny's near perfect back, running his fingers over them, his arms and neck, rewarding Johnny with gentle love bites and kisses, for being good to him but all the good thinks must come to an end.
Bi-Han felt his powers stirring, the slight tingling sensation alerted him to an upcoming danger. Tilting Johnny's head towards him, Bi-Han seals their lips in a slow, languid kiss - Bi-Han didn't mind that Johnny was unresponsive to it. He would make him his soon enough.
On his way out of the room, Bi-Han collected his gloves and mask, picking up the discarded Johnny's discarded armor, freezing it and shattering it against the wall.
Johnny won't need it in the future after everything is done.
Sub-Zero walks past his lined up minions, his Johnny Cage at the front, blue eyes staring into nothing, skin frost bitten. Sub-Zero takes off his mask and presses his lips to Johnny's - they no longer yield.
---
Johnny can hear the commotion outside, rolling over onto his other side to face the door, Johnny waits for his captor to come in, to snatch him up once again and take him somewhere where his friends won't find him.
The door pursts open and Johnny flinches, looking up at -
"Syzoth?"
"Johnny?"
Johnny bursts into tears, covering his face with his hands, too overwhelmed to do anything. He can't look at himself, how he looks to Syzoth, hiccuping out a sob.
Syzoth is by his side in a second, breaking his chains and wrapping him in a thin sheet. "Johnny, we have to go, quick, quick!"
Syzoth is pulling out of the bed and Ashrah is there too - when did she come into the room? - helping him up and they guide him trough the corridors, thankfully not encountering any of Titan Sub-Zero's minions.
Ashrah is silent, Syzoth is telling him that everything will be alright and Johnny wants to just shut his brain off.
--
Sub-Zero is defeated.
Johnny feels as if a heavy weight was lifted off his shoulders and he ugly cries in the safety of Wu Shi Academy, trying to muffle his wailing into a pillow.
A concerned monk enters his room, checking over his injuries, thinking that it got worse and trough gentle words, soft 'May I's, guides him to the hot spring and trough hazy mind, Johnny sinks into the water, mind going a mile a minute but at the same time not, after a while, Johnny finds himself relaxing into the water and against better judgment, Johnny closes his eyes.
A shocked gasp is what wakes him up, Raiden standing there with a tray of food intended for him, Raiden's eyes looking over his marked body and Johnny covers himself, sinking into the water, feeling violated in more ways than one.
"Johnny, I apologise, I-"
"Get out!"
Raiden murmurs an apology, leaving the tray near the hot spring and scurrying out without a second glance, looking down on the ground.
And Johnny weeps, sobs muffling into his hand, mind not comprehending why it was him.
--
"When we defeated Titan Sub-Zero, it was your name he called, Johnny Cage." Ashrah says softly as she checks over his healed marks.
"Mine? Or my frozen counterpart."
Ashrah pauses and Johnny looks at her. "I saw my other self, Ashrah. I looked...dead."
"Johnny Cage..."
Ashrah pulls him into a hug, Johnny resting his head on her shoulder. "Did you see yourself too?"
"No, I did not. And for that, I am glad. But for you-"
"I don't want pity, Ashrah. I'm doing mostly fine now, thanks to therapy and great support system." Pulling back, Johnny collected his shirt, sighing softly.
"I just want to leave that event of my life behind."
#mortal kombat#mortal kombat x#mortal kombat 11#mkx#mk11#johnny cage#mk1#mk1 2023#mortal kombat 1 2023#mortal kombat 1#ashrah#mk ashrah#syzoth#mk bi han#eviltitan!bi han#evil titan bi han#coldstar#nell writes oneshots#mk sub zero
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There needs to be more Luke comes back to life and helps the seven during heroes of olympus redemption fics. He still hates the gods, his redemption is learning to control his anger, his trauma and make up for what he did to the other demigods. And learn to trust them. Working with Percy and other demigods to dismantle the system. Also I just get a kick out of 1) Luke involved with Percy level shenanigans. 2)Death jokes. 3) Luke getting a kick out of Percy slowly not giving a fuck anymore
You are so right!!! It’s set up perfectly in Son of Neptune!!! Doors of death are open!!
I’ve thought about this constantly!! On the way to the doors of death they could have come across him wandering around or sabotaging Gaea’s plans!
My favorite idea to bring Luke back would be in at the end of mark of Athena…
Imagine, the seven reach the doors of death and a man in armor is vehemently fighting the monsters trying to escape Tartarus. He is wearing a helmet so no recognizes him at first. The armored man is relieved for the help. Then he sees Percy and Annabeth, and he freezes.
Then annabeth is dragged to Tartarus. It’s not just Percy who runs to her. The helmet falls off and Percy, Annabeth, and Nico all gasp. Luke and Percy try to pull Annabeth up but the weight of the car pulling her down is too much.
This is were the story could go one of two ways. 1.) Luke falls into Tartarus with Percy and Annabeth or 2.) he loses grip of Annabeth right as Percy gives way and is helped out by one of the seven.
Option one has potential for begrudging reconciliation and Luke talking to Percy about the Achlys incident. Percy and Luke bonding over their feelings towards the gods and how the desire to destroy the gods would/has ruined their relationship with their friends and particularly Annabeth. Luke and Annabeth having a conversation about how Thalia’s “death” affected them differently. Luke and her coming to the agreement that while the gods are awful they are the lesser of two evils. Luke would laugh his ass off at the shrine In Tartarus that’s the only source of food.
imagine them finding the winged shoes that Luke gave Percy to drag him into Tartarus. Also imagine the look on the gods faces when the traitor/savior of Olympus literally crawls out of hell to save them again.
Option two Luke would be on a ship with only Nico knowing first hand what he did. He would have a break down over Jason. Thalia had a brother. Luke might have known, but thought he was dead from Thalia crying into his arms about their mother giving baby Jason up to “Hera”. Imagine him looking at Leo and Piper and thinking to himself “I’m the reason theses children are head counselors. I’m the reason they don’t know their older siblings.”
Luke could find out Hazel almost healed Gaea rise in the 30’s comfort her about how sometimes doing the wrong things because of the right reasons and she was deserving of her mother’s love for more than her powers.
Luke could assure Frank that not wanting to be like your godly parent is ok. Not everyone enjoys their parent’s domain and they shouldn’t have to to earn their attention. Luke can help Frank accept that he’s his own person outside of being a demigod and a piece of wood can’t control him if he doesn’t let it.
Just Luke going full big bro mode
#pjo#percy jackson#pjo hoo toa#batman#percy jackon and the olympians#jason grace#heroes of olympus#percy jackson and the olympians#luke castellan#luke pjo#nico di angelo#annabeth pjo#pjo series#pjo au#jason pjo#leo valdez#piper mclean#piper pjo#leo pjo#hazel levesque#hazel pjo#frank zhang#Frank pjo
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The Guyver will be released on 4K Ultra HD and Blu-ray on May 21 via Unearthed Films. Also known as Mutronics, the 1991 sci-fi superhero film is based on the Japanese manga series of the same name by Yoshiki Takaya.
Special effects legends Steve Wang (Predator) and Screaming Mad George (Society) co-direct from a script by Jon Purdy. Mark Hamill, Vivian Wu, Jack Armstrong, Jimmie Walker, Michael Berryman, David Gale, and Jeffrey Combs star. Brian Yuzna (Re-Animator, Society) produces.
The Guyver has been newly restored in 4K from the original, R-rated 35mm camera negative with DTS-HD Master Audio 5.1 and 2.0 options. The 4K edition includes a soundtrack CD and a booklet. Special features are listed below.
Disc 1 - 4K UHD:
Audio commentary by co-directors Screaming Mad George and Steve Wang, moderated by Budget Biomorphs: The Making of The Guyver Films author Dom O’Brien (new)
Disc 2 - Blu-ray:
Audio commentary by co-directors Screaming Mad George and Steve Wang, moderated by Budget Biomorphs: The Making of The Guyver Films author Dom O’Brien (new)
Interview with producer Brian Yuzna (new)
Interview with co-director Screaming Mad George (new)
Suit tests with commentary by co-directors Screaming Mad George and Steve Wang (new)
Outtakes with commentary by co-directors Screaming Mad George and Steve Wang (new)
Gag geel with commentary by co-directors Screaming Mad George and Steve Wang (new)
Production & artwork gallery (new)
Alternate title sequence
Trailers
Disc 3 - CD:
Original soundtrack composed by Matthew Morse (Silent Night, Deadly Night 5: The Toy Maker)
When a researcher at the Chronos Corporation is mysteriously killed, his daughter (Vivian Wu), her boyfriend, Sean (Jack Armstrong), and a rogue CIA agent named Max Reed (Mark Hamill) all suspect foul play. Sean discovers a top-secret suit of Chronos armor called "the Guyver," which fuses to his body when he tries it on, turning him into a supremely powerful cyborg. Chronos' evil CEO, Fulton Balcus (David Gale), is enraged and sends a crew of mutant alien monsters to get the Guyver back.
Pre-order The Guyver.
#the guyver#mark hamill#david gale#michael berryman#jeffrey combs#steve wang#screaming mad george#unearthed films#dvd#gift#jimmie walker#vivian wu#tokusatsu#manga#brian yuzna
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Parts of the fandom have spoken! I’ll share my self-indulgent skakdi and Zakaz headcanons.
While copying out my notes, they grew even more... Be aware that this is a longer post! I'll put the largest part under a readmore if asked for.
Edit: I was pretty tired yesterday, so I forgot to give shout-outs to @mothnem and @crystaltoa. Headcanon 1 started in a discussion between mothnem and I about their AU and they created some of the details that inspired my headcanons as a whole. Crystaltoa listened to my ramblings and gave feedback.
Please reblog this version!
-----
Headcanon 1: Some of the skakdi are part of the GSR’s immune system. Rather than warriors and shepherds protecting the workers as GSR’s internal structures directly like toa do, these skakdi keep the ecosystem and people healthy by dealing with sicknesses. All people in this area of jobs have cooperative elemental powers. (This is before the Awakening and some of the time after, prior to other political players interfering.)
One group are doctors. They can read living beings’ energy and determine whether or not they’re healthy by touch. If they’re not, they figure out the cause and craft medicine from protodermis. They have an easier time reading species created directly by the Great Beings or Mata Nui like their own, vortixx, stelts, or matoran.
Medical assistants help the doctors. Writing reports, fetching materials, watching over the process of medicine making, etc. Some of them are apprentices meant to become doctors themselves.
Another group acts similar to phagocytic cells. They are special operations who step in when contagious diseases appear. Immune to most diseases, sicknesses, and toxins; will not spread any even after prolonged contact with these things. These traits make them different from the doctors. But they’re able to read living beings’ energy, too. They are specialized in either of these three jobs:
Scouts. They – always six with the main elements – venture into areas with suspected or confirmed sickness, whether it affects the flora, the fauna, the people, or any of them combined. They determine sick plants by eating parts of them. If they can’t locate or touch living specimen, they eat remains of dead plants and of rahi to determine the cause. They create crystals from their findings and forward them to messengers to bring them back to the doctors to scan. Sometimes, they’ll send patients for better care.
Their job includes locating the focus of diseases, marking the area, and setting up quarantines where necessary. Scouts give emergency first aid to stabilize, including slowing down patients’ bodies / putting them into a coma by cooling them down or flushing out specific toxins via water energy. If they can’t save them, they give palliative care instead.
Contagious remains of Great Beings Creations (GBC) and of rahi, and plantlife, are burned. The remains are encased in stone and earth. Skakdi of air control that no airborne pathogens or embers spread.
Messengers. Quick on their feet, they work in groups of three to ensure their cargo – patients, medical crystals, notes, medicine – reaches their destination.
I have no designation for this job yet, but these skakdi tend to be the biggest and are heavily armored. Primary job: They protect the scouts (who are no warriors) from the flora and fauna. Their secondary task is a last resort: to destroy and eat highly contagious rahi and plantlife that have gone out of control. They can’t be cured or there’s no time to scout for a cure first. They ruthlessly kill them, eating the remains within seconds. They produce the same crystals as the scouts, but with more data.
The health specialists make up only part of the whole skakdi population. On Zakaz, a big part of what is created and built is for own use, like tools and devices to build houses and machines. Medicine and energy supply machines are the most exported goods. Some are farmers and fishers because eating food is seen as average part of life. Some are traders who bring back goods for further processing from Xia or Metru Nui. Zakaz also has doctors specialized in reparing and healing fellow skakdi.
In locations outside of Zakaz, skakdi do similar jobs to the other people around them, like smith work or teaching or being healers.
To repeat, this is how things were supposed to go.
-----
Headcanon 2: Specific organizations of and leading matoran wanted to gather more power in the GSR, over their own people and over others. They invented and spread several lies about the other GBC (Great Beings Creations), including that eating with their mouth made them barbaric and thus lesser (and dangerous). Along with these lies came sanctions and restrictions as well as the restriction of information to only what was approved.
One of such places was Metru Nui shortly before, around, and after the civil war. The aim was both to extort better trade conditions for Metru Nui and dissuade local dissenters from leaving because of the unknown. Affected GBC would also be less likely to host refugee matoran, seeing matoran in general as the source for their problems. And the turaga used that resentment as false proof of their lies. The Order of Mata Nui helped in spread of the propaganda.
Skakdi soon were met with suspicion and anger from their matoran peers. Many had to leave their previous homes because their work as well as their person were rejected. They rightfully grew resentful of them.
Makuta Spiriah’s arrival on Zakaz made things worse. Seeing potential for warriors in the skakdi because of their protectors, he trained volunteers in combat and strategy. He also modified a large group to be stronger and more aggressive, including installing the spine slugs.
Skakdi volunteered for many reasons. They feared attacks by matoran as well as xian forces. They wanted revenge. They feared Spiriah’s retaliation if they refused. They wanted to be able to protect themselves when dealing with rahi. They wanted power for power’s sake. They wanted to take control of Zakaz. They wanted to take control of the GSR (the Barraki had almost managed it, had they not.)
Not all inhabitants agreed to go with Spiriah’s plans. Whether it was the depths of the modifications or the modifications on their own.
All factors that created a metaphorical bomb for existing tensions to rise and explode. Spiriah lit the fuse when left the island and the visorak in charge of Zakaz.
How dare the Makuta leave them alone?! Many skakdi were struggling with side-effects that only appeared then – like uncontrollable and heightened aggression. The healers and doctors didn’t have the resources to help them.
How dare he put the visorak in charge?! It was an insult to the prouder inhabitants, already slighted by the matoran. Others feared Spiriah’s retaliation as well as what the visorak would do if they went against the horde.
In this confusion, the common question was: What to do now?
Social upheaval changed Zakaz forever over this. A civil war broke out that involved more and more inhabitants until half of Zakaz’s population was fighting each other. They killed the visorak during this conflict, having now a large, armed and trained force to fight back against them. They were also partly immune to their venom. Distinct factions evolved from the combatants, often led by people who fueled the war.
The other half of the population hid in fear of getting pulled into combat and / or get killed. The Brotherhood of Makuta and Krika getting involved only brought a temporary, tenuous peace, and being completely isolated from the outside world and many stranded outside their home.
The Order of Mata Nui didn’t aid Zakaz either, leaving them struggling with the loss of resources and internal power struggles, and their home ravaged.
It was a political calculation. Strengthen the matoran organizations close by, divide the GBC further, and because they didn’t want to invest either time or resources to help Zakaz. They failed to consider the long-term consequences of locking away the GSR's health specialists and leaving their jobs to the Brotherhood alone.
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Headcanon 3: Officially, the whole of the island is under a common leadership. Unofficially, the government Makuta Krika installed and is loyal to the Brotherhood (by necessity) has trouble keeping the peace.
The island is divided by philosophies and politics. The travel ban is imperfect. The two remaining war factions have been aiming to come to power ever since the civil war stopped. Both have been making dealings with Xia leadership in secret for weapons, including selling their own people into slavery.
Criminal gangs control little pockets on Zakaz and terrorize the population. Many of them work with the war factions. Some areas reject modified skakdi, other reject unmodified ones, often violently. Vezok comes from one of these areas, which explains Vezon’s thoughts about “home”.
Most skakdi leaving Zakaz are either refugees desperate for safety and a better life, daring traders who regularly sneak or bribe their way past the blockade, and criminals. The former two groups try to stay out of sight, while the third couldn't care less.
They’re breaking the law already, so what? Who cares about hurting matoran sensibilities? (Like eating meat in front of them.) Those are the skakdi most matoran meet .
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Headcanon 4: Makuta Krika banned travel to control Zakaz. Just because Spiriah had caused trouble locally didn’t change that he created a new army the Brotherhood could use.
And by forcing the skakdi either into hiding or onto Zakaz, the Brotherhood could step in to take over their jobs.
-----
Headcanon 5: Larger and more batches of surviving refugees took advantage of the Great Cataclysm’s chaos. The tsunamis threw the blockade into disarray and destroyed dozens of ships outright. The coastal patrols both on land and water got destroyed in many places as well.
The refugees fled Zakaz once the Silver Sea calmed down some, when the various leaderships and groups focused on survival and maintaining their strongholds.
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Exclusive Homeworld Lost Preview
A preview from a later section of my fic (Part 1 of 12 posted here)! This chapter from Part 9 gives a lot of the flavor of some of the relationships in Homeworld Lost without too many spoilers. It contains a rather surprising Cui/Raditz sex scene with many narrative and character moments.
A little context: This is the first chapter of Part 9. At the end of Part 8, Vegeta and Raditz had an extremely bitter fight. Vegeta vowed that Raditz would eventually die by his hand. Part 9 catches up with the characters a couple years of space travel after this fight has taken place. We get an impression of how their relationship has been in the meantime. Raditz is in his late 20s here, and Vegeta is right around 20 (Earth years). Cui, envious of Freeza's "favoritism" of the saiyans, has spent years tormenting Raditz with the aim of humiliating Vegeta.
Rating: Explicit (sexual content and dark themes)
Relationships: Cui/Raditz & Vegeta/Raditz
Content Warnings and Tags: angst, references to alcoholism/addiction, abusive relationships, jealousy, sadism/masochism, humiliation, degradation, slut shaming, anal fingering, ass-to-mouth
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Part 9: Between the Stars
Chapter 1: Marks
“I don’t remember giving you this one.”
I reached for my discarded bodysuit as Cui’s fingers traced the outline of a dark bruise at the center of my chest.
“Hm, was it Vegeta who did that to you?” he asked. He applied a bit of pressure. “Looks like it still hurts…”
I slipped my shirt on so the mark couldn’t draw his attention anymore. “Just training,” I answered.
“Does he know where you are right now?” He brushed a stray lock of hair away from my face and smoothed it against the tousled mess his play had left. “Does he know about us?”
Turning away, I stood up from the hired bed. “He doesn’t care if I live or die. But he’d kill you if he knew.”
Cui chuckled to himself. “That doesn’t sound like he doesn’t care.”
“You should leave the station. I know you’ve got another planet to clean up before Sytrus. We’ll be here a little longer.” I retrieved my boots and scouter from the corner of the small room. “He really will kill you if he finds out you’re here.”
He pointed at the scouter. “Read my power level.”
I did. Roughly equal to Vegeta’s, but Cui didn’t need to know this. The prince had made considerable progress since Arcos in spite of everything. Though I hadn’t been able to catch Zarbon unaccompanied, he’d delivered Vegeta back to our quarters himself after I’d woken up alone in the medical wing. He would’ve seen evidence on his scouter if something had gone awry with Vegeta’s energy, and he may have investigated without my prompting. I could only pray that this had happened, and I couldn’t dare ask the prince to contradict it. Whatever the case, when Vegeta joined us, answering our looks with well-versed silence, he was as strong as he’d ever been.
“See?” Cui scoffed. “Last I saw the little saiyan prince in the flesh, his power level was under one thousand. Even if he’s recovered from his…accident by now, there’s no way he’s anywhere close to me.”
“Still.” Now I reached for my armor.
Cui caught hold of my arm before I could pull it over my head. “No,” he said. “The boots and scouter—leave them. You want to stay for a while.”
In truth, I did not. Cui’s crew received cleansing assignments from Zarbon and Dodoria, and there was a small chance I might hear something of their travels or whereabouts. Cui himself could believe whatever he wished about why I’d sought his company. “Not too long, though,” I told him, setting the armor back down against the wall. “You know I’ll be punished.”
“Mm, but you like to be punished, don’t you?” Scaled arms encircled my waist, the gesture almost familiar and saiyan. Cui had learned much despite the infrequency of our trysts. With my suit now protecting my bare chest from his, I could almost forget that cold clamminess against my skin. “Were all of your kind like that, or is it just you?” he asked.
“Couldn’t tell you.”
“But you don’t deny it.” He nudged me back towards the bed till I sat.
Instead of towering over him, now I looked up into his face.
“And neither does your body. How that…thing”—he grimaced—“between your legs swells after pain has left you weak, and I’ve stretched you too far…”
I shivered, and my stomach turned. “Don’t see what you get out of it.”
“I suppose there isn’t a physical component for me like there is for you.” He grasped my chin and tilted my head back so my mouth could receive his. “But surely you saiyans understand the pleasure of finding your enemy’s weakness?” Now that slimy tongue forced my lips apart, slithered between my teeth to taste me from the inside.
“Thought we had an arrangement,” I got out.
“I stopped paying you years ago.” Small, serrated fangs scraped my lower lip. “You and I aren’t enemies anymore, no. You come because you’re lonely.” He let go of my chin only to tangle his hands in my hair, cradling and caressing me as he kissed me again. “Must be dreadful to be a creature that needs someone else… So lonely that you’ll do anything, tell me anything.”
I pulled my legs up onto the bed and backed away, putting some distance between us. “Vegeta would’ve never been your enemy if you hadn’t…”
“No.” He crawled into the bed after me. “I did what I did because he was my enemy already. Lording over all of us, stealing Lord Freeza’s attention… He never did anything to deserve his rank. Just another one of you disgusting monkeys.” Cui’s hand strayed down my chest and abdomen, then between my thighs. He licked his lips when he found me half-hard. “How wretched. No matter how strong you can be on the battlefield, you lower lifeforms languish without such base things as this. Don’t know what Freeza sees in you.”
“W-what makes you think Freeza’s attention is something to be desired?”
“As stupid as you are vulgar.” His fingers crept beneath my waistband so he could tease and toy with me. Bending and rolling me between his thumb and forefinger while I was still soft enough for it. “I’m sure you’ve never actually listened to your superiors. If you did, you’d know that the Planet Trade will make this galaxy a different place. Maybe it doesn’t matter to you, since you’re the last of your kind, and your lifespans are so short. But Lord Freeza will rid the universe of vermin like you. He’ll sell planets to those more worthy. In the end, only people like him and myself will remain, and then I will be prince of an empire greater than any monkey could imagine.”
My hand joined his, and though he could overpower me easily, I moved to still it. “It’s less that I haven’t listened and more that you’re just hearing what you want to hear, Cui.” Our fingers intertwined. “If he tortured you, you wouldn’t want to be Freeza’s favorite anymore—fuck—!”
Retaliating, he’d pinched that most sensitive spot under the head of my cock so sharply that I was certain he’d drawn blood, torn the delicate skin. “Lord Freeza does you a kindness”—soothing with light touches that did little more than draw more attention to the echoing pain—“with how you creatures crave to be destroyed. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“If you really want to be Freeza’s favorite,” I answered when I could, “then I hope he notices you. Truly—anything you want. Vegeta and I never meant to deny you anything.”
A nibble at my neck, the sting acute enough to detract from that between my legs, but gentle enough to send a shiver down my spine that was almost pleasant. “You’re always so thoughtful after you get what you want.”
When Cui’s fist circled me to stroke properly, I knew I’d found my chance. “We…I can see you again… If you tell me where Zarbon’s sending you. You aren’t meeting with him, are you? Know it’s dangerous—but I’ll do it. For you.”
“Mm.” He pulled me free from my leggings. “I’ll consider it.”
Obliging him, I removed the shirt I’d used to hide my scars and bruises from his view. Tracing them while his eyes followed, my fingers whispered across my chest till my fur bristled and my nipples stood erect. I met his gaze as I took up rubbing them, tugging and pressing them for him to watch while my cock hardened in his hand.
“I might tell you if you’re good,” Cui purred. “Now tell me something. Does Vegeta do this for you too after he hurts you?”
I arched my neck for him as he leaned in to suck at a conspicuous row of four purple marks. “No,” I answered. “I’m not what he wants.”
“Such a pity…” He stroked a little faster, tightened his grip just enough. How closely he’d observed that first time, forcing me to pleasure myself lest I subject myself to something more painful and humiliating.
“He never touches me like this.”
“Because he imagines himself better than you?” He paused to spread the wetness weeping from my tip over the head of my cock, thumbing firmly and leaving my toes and tail curling at the overstimulation. “But I know the truth. He’s just as filthy of an animal as you are.” Stroking me again while he spoke softly next to my ear. “A simple, battered creature that’s known nothing but suffering as long as it’s drawn breath. Even before your planet was destroyed.”
He kissed me, long and, if I didn’t know better, tenderly. “That night long ago now… When nothing I did brought a single tear to your eye…even after you were screaming and bleeding and begging me to stop. After I grew tired of it, and I held you to my chest, only then did you break down and tell me all about what that wicked lady did to you.”
“Cui…don’t.”
“But you’re not struggling, Raditz.” Another kiss. “You love to suffer now. A beast whose lowly appetites were never fed anything but misery, and you’ve learned to survive on it. Tell me I’m wrong.”
But he gave me no chance to reply. Instead, his free hand seized my jaw, and he shoved two fingers through my lips and to the back of my throat till I gagged and spat up onto my chin.
“Don’t bite—you said you’d be good.” He pressed down hard on my tongue, massaging, making my stomach turn and my mouth water involuntarily. “Yes, I am meeting with Zarbon, actually, so you’ll have to be very careful indeed.”
Once he withdrew, he let go of my cock to tug on my waistband. Then he ordered, “Pull these down and spread your legs.”
I did.
“Such a well-trained monkey.” The pads of those two slicked fingers pressed and swirled around my puckered hole like the flat of an unnaturally cool tongue. “Look at you—so loose and ready for me no matter what you say. Even after everything I’ve done to you. Raped you, beaten you, shamed and disgraced you for all of the Planet Trade to witness. Still you beg to see me. Risk your life.”
My breath hitched as he nudged his fingers inside me. Deftly, he curled them upwards and pushed against my sweet spot rhythmically while his other hand returned to work my cock. “Where, though, Cui? Please…”
He ignored me. “So lonely… Ever since you came back from Fuenghi. Sad looks, long sighs. Your prince is a man now, isn’t he? And you’ve loved him longer than that. Because he hurts you like no one ever has. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“Don’t—don’t want to think about him. Just you.” I rolled my hips into his caresses, curled my tail around his wrist.
“Very good.” He rewarded me by rightly fucking me with his fingers, hitting that spot behind my balls again and again till my muscles quivered and clenched, and whimpers escaped unbidden from my mouth.
Unaffected by my unraveling, he continued evenly, “There’s another famous pleasure house along the route to Sytrus. You know how Zarbon likes to collect his slaves. Visit me there. There will be enough depravity going on that no one will notice a little more.”
I bit my lip to contain a moan and nodded. I’d gotten what I needed; Cui could think that he’d won, and it wouldn’t matter. I let my eyes roll back, and instead of Cui, I slipped and imagined Vegeta fucking me, those narrow, strong hands around my neck instead of my own broad ones.
“So filthy—won’t even reach your release without strangling yourself like he does,” Cui muttered. “Broken little slut of a monkey. You like hearing what you are, don’t you? A desperate, whimpering whore who loves to be abused.”
My hands flew to clutch the bed beneath me, and I gasped sharply as Cui fucked me hard through the first spasms of coming. Blood rushing back to my face and air to my lungs, I floated above my body, weightless and high. I couldn’t hear or cringe at the pathetic sounds he wrung from me till it was too late, and it was already over, and I was shivering and groaning while he continued to fuck me mercilessly despite freeing my cock from his grasp.
He chuckled darkly to himself after he withdrew. “I’m not even one of you, but I know I do it better than Vegeta ever would. All he knows how to do is kill them. He doesn’t listen to you like I do. And he doesn’t touch you like I do either. So you say.” He leaned over me and pressed his hand to my lips, fingers wet and scented with my own come. “Clean me up,” he demanded.
Mindlessly, I licked him clean, swallowed myself down. I already felt my heart sinking. I shouldn’t have come so hard by his hand, hearing such venomous lies.
“Now the other.”
A different scent. I cringed away automatically.
“Oh? You don’t like this?”
Perhaps he didn’t understand. To him, each part of my body he had condescended to touch was no different than the other. Primitive organs of elimination.
His amphibious face didn’t often contort into expressions I recognized outright, but the one he wore now I couldn’t mistake for anything but malicious glee. “I haven’t given you my actual schedule, you know. If you aren’t good, I’ll have no reason to give it to you. So lonesome without me…”
I gritted my teeth and bit back every fuck you that rose to my lips. Maybe he knew, and he just didn’t care. Either way, I had no choice. The prince’s life could depend on it, my warning Zarbon. Holding my breath, I opened my mouth and sucked on his fingers till he was satisfied.
“See? Even the mighty saiyan can be tamed.” He took me in his arms then, and he ran those wretched fingers through my hair. “Here, Raditz, I’ll hold you as long as you need. Anything you want, you can tell me. I’ll show you the coordinates, and you can comfort yourself that you’ll see me again soon.”
In spite of everything, the tingling caresses along my scalp did help to distract me, and I let them. As long as I saw Zarbon, I wouldn’t have to see Cui again.
A scouter’s alert. The brief flash of green light told me it was mine.
“You were very good. I’ll get it for you,” Cui said. He stood and retrieved it, then offered it to me without bothering to look into whatever had appeared in the glass.
I didn’t look closely either. It didn’t matter. It was the perfect excuse. “I have to go,” I told Cui.
“Will you miss me?”
“I’ll come to see you,” I lied as I fixed my clothes, got up, and shuffled into my boots and armor. My heart pounded in my throat, and that familiar emptiness widened within me. It always happened after I spent such time with Cui; even he had noticed, always probing my weaknesses, and he would stay to soothe me if only to catch whatever more of myself I spilled.
“I’ve grown fond of you, I admit.” he said before I could escape into the corridor. “I will miss you.”
“Fucking gods,” I cursed once the door had shut, and I was alone. I hurried for a decontamination chamber. Vegeta would have no mercy for me if was already back at our rented rooms, and I hadn’t yet washed, and he found out what I’d done.
I paid the meager sum, stepped inside, and tried not to inhale the harsh chemicals before they were sucked out into space. I only checked my scouter’s alert once I’d already left and made it halfway across the station.
It was from Nappa. Cui is aboard the station. The prince is looking for you, it read simply.
“Fucking gods,” I cursed again. I prayed that I’d reach the rooms before he did, and I hastened to ensure it.
And by the grace of those same gods I frequently cursed, only Nappa was there when I arrived. “I saw your message,” I told him between breaths. “I don’t know about Cui. I didn’t see him. I just went for a drink and took my scouter off.”
“You really shouldn’t drink as much as you do,” he admonished after staring me down. I had never given him many reasons to trust me.
“I know. It’s just…”
“Difficult,” he finished for me.
“Yes, it’s just so fucking hard.” I removed the scouter from my face, folded it, and tossed it into an open compartment. “Why is everything so fucking hard?”
Nappa shook his head. Only then did I notice the half-empty container of dark liquid in front of him. “I have more dreams when I drink,” he said.
I sat down beside him, nudged the container away. “You’d better hide that. Vegeta won’t like it.”
Another solemn nod.
“I’m going to get myself out of this armor. Wash up. Take care of yourself, Nappa.” I squeezed his shoulder before I turned and left him. He’d never spoken much, but he spoke even less after we left Arcos and those seasons of torture behind.
I couldn’t say how long I spent scrubbing Cui’s ichthyian mucus out of my skin, how many times I rinsed out my mouth. But the crash of shattered glass against a wall snapped me out of it. I stepped out of the washroom and stumbled to find new clothes while Vegeta’s low threats loomed closer.
“Where is Raditz?” he snarled.
A pause.
“He’s here?”
Another silent pause.
I pressed my bare back against the cold wall, hoping it could bear my weight if my knees could not.
“Get out. And don’t dare bring anything back with you but your scouter and the suit you’re wearing.”
Nappa must not have moved after I’d left, and the crash I’d heard had an easy explanation.
A moment later, the click of a door broke the rhythm of pacing boots. More pacing, then it stopped after growing louder, nearer the sleeping quarters I’d shut myself in.
Hesitating.
I kept my eyes shut, my back pressed to the wall.
A click, then more steps. So close now that I could feel his presence, hear the nearly imperceptible hiss of breath through parted teeth. Then the whispered warmth of its ghost whisked against my chest. He stood just in front of me, and I had nowhere to run.
I looked at him.
Our gazes, however, did not meet. Vegeta’s ran over my body. Scars and marks he recognized, new ones and old. Though some of them he did not recognize, and these he lingered on.
“Vegeta, I—”
He smothered whatever I had to say into a kiss. Hard, each gloved hand clutching my face between them, as he, in all his strength, pinned me against the wall. Bruising, desperate. When he broke away only to pant open-mouthed over my lips, we tasted our scents mingled rich between us.
“Listen—” he began, but he couldn’t stand to continue, and he sank into another kiss instead. A muffled groan hummed behind his lips as he dragged his hands from my face down my naked chest. If only he didn’t insist on wearing those damned gloves.
“Listen,” he began again, and this time, he didn’t try to keep himself from kissing me. Rather, he leaned into my neck, and between words, he gave in and brushed his lips and tongue against my pulse. “You—you belong to me. Hear me? You…are mine.”
“I’m yours,” I answered without a second thought. My knees went weak as if he’d captured my tail and wrung it in his ruthless grip.
“Mine.” Though even as he uttered this, he pulled himself back from me. Whatever anger I’d dreaded before, yet missed, he wore now.
“I—”
“Dress yourself, take your scouter, and get out.”
“Please…”
“You heard me. Leave, and don’t come back until you’ve been called.”
“But I have to—”
“Leave. Now.”
I could do nothing but rush to find my boots, then the clean shirt I’d laid out. I didn’t have time to take the armor.
“And don’t you fucking dare forget what I told you.”
“I-I won’t,” I promised before I obeyed and left him.
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AJDJFJIWJDJD YOUR BAIT STORY OMFG.
May I ask for a final part, where Onthyes and Ventis comfort each other and apologize? Just overall sweetness between them with some angst? 👀 (sorry for the constant asks, I just LOVE your writing OMFG).
-- @whumperofworlds
Yes absolutely they definitely need this!
Part 1 | Part 2
Content: drugged whumpee, guilt, stitches, (oblivous) whumpee x caretaker
~~~
Ventis dozes off on the way to Onthyes's house. There's not even a second of fear that Onthyes will drop him, and he feels so safe being carried in his arms that it's easy to let the nightspill finally weigh him down into sleep.
Things are fuzzy after that as Ventis continues to drift in and out of consciousness. He feels himself being gently laid on a bed. Onthyes's scent surrounds him - warm and woody with a hint of citrus.
"The poor fucker." Shayah's voice sounds like it's miles away, but Ventis can feel her hands unwrapping the makeshift bandages covering the claw marks on his side. "He was trying so hard to stay sober."
"He'll recover." Onthyes sounds certain. How can he have so much faith in something who doesn't know how to do anything other than fuck up? "He has us. I just hope he doesn't blame himself."
Ventis lets himself drift above the soft lull of their voices. It's comforting, knowing that his friends have everything taken care of.
Then he's rudely yanked back to awareness by a stinging pain in his side. He gasps, trying to turn away from the source of the pain, but he's stopped by hands on his shoulders keeping him in place.
Ventis opens his eyes to see Onthyes's worried face hovering over him.
"I'm sorry," Onthyes says quickly. "We thought you'd stay out for longer. It will only take a minute, okay? Just try to hold still."
Ventis whines as the pain starts up again. He forces his eyes to focus enough to see what's happening, and nearly faints at the sight of Shayah pulling a length of bloody thread through his wound to hold it closed. Onthyes's hand finds his cheek quickly, turning his face so they're focused on each other.
"Don't look, Ventis. Focus on me. You're okay."
"It hurts," Ventis gasps.
"I know, I know. I'm so sorry. This is all my fault."
Ventis shakes his head quickly. "No, It's mine. I should've let you- ah! Fuck!"
"Sorry, breezy," Shayah murmurs. "I'm almost done."
Onthyes grips Ventis's hands tightly, letting him squeeze them despite his claws digging into his skin. "I should've protected you. I promised I would always protect you."
"You shouldn't have to."
"That doesn't matter. Even if you become the most powerful sorcerer in this world I am always going to be there to keep you safe. I swear it."
Shayah ties off the stitches and reapplies bandages, but Ventis's full attention is on Onthyes. He's exhausted and in pain and he just wants to sleep but he can only stare up at the man kneeling next to him on the bed.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Ventis whispers. "Why would you..." He squeezes his eyes closed. "I'm not worth it."
Onthyes makes a pained sound. "Ventis, listen to me." He lets go of Ventis's hands and grabs his face, cupping both of his cheeks. Ventis does as he's told, meeting Onthyes's ivy green eyes and finding them watering dangerously.
"You are worth so much. You are everything to me and I can't let anything happen to you. That's why I get so overbearing sometimes. I need you to be safe because you are the most important thing in my life and I can't lose you."
"But... That's not fair. I can't lose you either. Why do you get to be the one putting yourself at risk for my sake? It's selfish, Onthyes. I need you. I need you alive and by my side and not throwing yourself in front of every bad thing that comes my way."
Tears finally escape Onthyes's eyes and he wipes them away quickly with a shaky smile.
"Let's protect each other, okay?" Ventis says. "You're not my bodyguard. Not my shield or my armor. You're my best friend."
Shayah, who had been quietly putting away her suture tools, let out an exasperated groan, muttering something about "they're so fucking clueless I'm gonna kill them" as she storms out of the room.
~~~
Ventisposting taglist: @scp-1296 @sapphicccici @acer-gaysimpstuff @morning-star-whump @yeetmyskeet @rainydaywhump
@unicornbeck @whumperofworlds
#whump#whump tropes#whump community#whump writing#whumpblr#whump scenario#whumpee#whump ideas#oc#original character#oc whump#dnd whump#whumpee x caretaker#nonhuman whumpee#cw blood#needles cw#whump ask#whump aftermath#whump angst#ventisposting#ventis
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Life's to short Chapter 1 (completed)
Cooper howard/The Ghoul x Lucy Maclean
Post end of season 1
Not beta.. I tried to edit 🫠
Ninety five percent written just tweaking
⚠️ Warning ⚠️
There will be canonically typical violence and eventually smut
+18 only
Slow burn sorta kinda
Please be nice this my first fic in almost a decade 🫣
Will eventually post on AO3 once I can get access... or where suggested 🤷🏻♂️
The sand blew past them as they marched forward along the rolling dunes. It had been, what, seven days since they left the observatory. Seven days of traveling east, well, eastish. The hound with them had the scent of old Daddy Maclean, a stuck bleeding pig in a half-dead power armor. A slick smile spread across his face, unless that piggy had a spare fusion core he wouldn’t be too far ahead. The sooner they got to him the better, not that the company was bad. Miss Chatterbox had actually been quiet. It was almost unnervingly so. He didn’t think the little slip of things could keep her mouth quiet for so long. The dog had made more damn noise than she did. Then again the Ghoul thought she had had the rug pulled right from under her. Went from a blushing bride to a finger-biting, venom-filled, killing machine. If the Super Duper Mart was any indication the little lady was a fighter. Another smile crossed his face as he glanced back at his companion. The Smooth skin had grabbed a poncho and pair of goggles off a dead traveler. He had pointed it out to her when they walked by, she hadn't even wrinkled her nose at it. Her skin was deeply tanned, pocket marked full of sun blister, and vault shoes traded in for something a bit more heavily soiled. Yet she was still so different from anything else out there. The Ghoul had tried to persuade her into giving up the vault suit but she hadn't budged yet. The blue and yellow suit, even heavily soiled, stood out like a sore thumb up here.
The first few days he had watched her fall, stumble and tumble all over the damn sand. It had caused a few coughing-fitted laughs, she was nothing but stubborn. Learning quickly how to walk on the slippery slopes and getting good boots helped. She barely ate and drank sips here and there. Her once sparkling eyes seemed hollow, the brightness sucked out of them. It was better that way, the Ghoul mulled. She needed to be hollowed out a bit, the spark stamped out some. If Lucy was going to make it top side she needed to be a little harder. Have a little more grit and grime smeared on her. His mind wandered a bit, as minds tend to do on long walks. The look of determination as she mercy killed her Mom, the look now on her face as she marched behind him. It stirred things, things that should have been long dead. But Ghouls were after all base creatures and somewhat humans. He had been stuck in a damn coffin for thirty years. It had been a long damn time since he felt anything soft. The thought of the feel of her face under his hand, then the pain as she bit him. If he lingered on that thought too long it was viable to make for an awkward evening. Not that Vaultie would have any interest in his ugly mug.
A half-ass lean too came into view, a perfect spot to let the Vaultie rest. He could have continued through the night, but she wasn't used to this, so some creature comforts were needed. He sent Dogmeat out to get her own dinner as they walked closer to the place. They both split in different directions circling the place to make sure nothing was hiding out behind the shanty. A custom they had both gotten used to, making sure the place was secure before going in. They met at the back, damn she did look tired. She had pushed the goggles up into her black hair, eyes with dark circles looking back at him.
He gestured with one leather-clad hand, “Ladies first,”
She rolled her eyes but went inside the little hut, dropping her bag and then herself onto the floor. At least what passed as a floor, was more sand than wood. The Ghoul had made sure Lucy had grabbed a bag, he certainly wasn't carrying all the goods considering she was the one who needed most of it. He also dropped his saddlebag onto the ground stretching his back a bit. He plunked down on the floor digging into the bag he pulled out his cantine of water and took a quick draw of it. Lucy’s arms were draped over her knees, ridiculously large eyes staring out into nothing.
“You need to eat, and get some water in ya,” The Ghoul tapped her foot with his own.
She barely moved, just staring straight ahead. The Ghoul sighed and rummaged through his bag finding a can of Cram. He shook it against his ear, “Should be okay,”
Tossing it, so it landed between her legs. She blinked and reached forward grabbing at the can. She cracked it open and stared at the half-dehydrated meat, before reaching in with her fingers and scooping some out. Less than two weeks ago she would have made a face and asked for a fork before touching the stuff. Good girl he mused.
The Ghoul had stared far too long as he watched her fingers go into her mouth. Her pink tongue poked out to lick away the residue. The slightly purple-gray finger roved around in the tin before she looked up at him. He turned his eyes away, grabbing his can and opening it. The heat burning in his guts pushed down. Yep, it had been way too long. He wasn't stupid enough to stay around to let that heat fester itself into a fire. The girl had been through enough without his dick getting in the way.
“I’ll take the first watch,” Ghoul grumbled and pushed himself up and out of the opening in the wall without another glance.
****
Lucy watches the Ghoul swish out the door like some leather-clad shadow. She had seen the way his eyes had watched her eat the food. Those gold-colored eyes blown open almost black. It wasn’t the first time she had caught him looking at her. It wasn’t the same way he had looked at her when they first met. The way he sneered down at her like she was less than a roach-slime on his boot. No, this was different. Something was different. Lucy’s mind swept back to her Dad, the piece of crud he was, trying to walk off in a stolen suit of armor. The look on the Ghoul’s face as he realized who it was. The way his eyes had widened with rage, the venom in his voice as he demanded to know where his family was. Two hundred years. He had been around since before the bombs dropped. All he had wanted was his family.
Lucy could understand, well sorta, she didn’t have answers about her own life. A life that was one big fat mutated lie. She threw the empty can at the wall watching it bounce onto the sand. The last seven days she’d been stuck in her head. Remembering her bother Norm as she left. Wondering how the vault was fairing. Would she ever see them again? Lucy knew the journey ahead could possibly kill her. Actually, the possibility of her dying was high on the list. Surprisingly she didn’t fear death anymore. Death was an easy solution. There was far worse thing than death, she had learned that the hard way. Now sitting here thinking of how the sun had scorched her as she stumbled across ground that felt more like heavy water, not that it was any better at night. Even wrapped in the poncho and sleeping bag she would still feel cold in her bones for hours after she got up. Hot tears were pouring out of her eyes, this stupid wasteland, with its stupid sand, and stupid cruel people. It was all a lie. Their vault was never coming to repopulate America. What even was America? What was any of this? What was she even doing?
She wiped her eyes and stood up. Lucy wanted answers and she wanted them now, and who better to answer them than the two hundred-plus-year-old butthole sitting outside looking up at the stars. Stopping, she watched him for a moment. Dogmeat was lying beside him, parts of some kind of dead animal beside her. The Ghoul was just staring up at the night sky. Lucy turned and looked up. In all the time, traveling this wretched wasteland, she had never stopped to look up at the sky. Millions of bright twinkling specks lit the sky as the moon crested over the range of ravaged mountains. It was beautiful.
“Guess you’ve never seen the stars before?” Ghoul questioned. Of course, he’d have heard her move, the man, creature, whatever he was, had scarily good perception.
“I never stopped to look at them before. I’ve seen pictures. Movies. But it’s so bright.”
“Nothin’ better than in person,” He drawled sucking back on a cigarette he had nabbed off another dead traveler. Lucy wondered what it tasted like, and for some reason what the Ghoul would taste like.
She walked over and sat down beside him. Lucy wouldn’t have had very many nice things to say about the Ghoul. But he was all she had. Legitimately. Maybe, Maximus would live, he would come looking for her. But at this very moment, the only thing keeping her from walking into a Radroach den was him. Whatever he thought of her, she didn’t really care. So they sat there looking up at the stars watching the moon move across the night sky.
She looked over at the Ghoul. He raised his brow, as he sucked back on the cigarette.
“Could I try that?” Lucy asked bluntly, really there was no need for pleasantries between them.
He crooked a smile at her handing her the cigarette. “You sure Vaultie? Things can be addictive.”
Lucy placed it between her lips taking a deep drag like she had seen him do. A cough immediately followed as she tried to blow smoke out. The stuff was awful.
Coughing and sputtering she handed the blunt back to the Ghoul. Who of course was laughing at her, as he took it back.
“Little too deep there Ms. MacLean.” He chuckled, taking another suck, his eyes constantly watching her.
Lucy caught her breath and felt a slight buzz start at her temples. She accepted the smoke when he handed it back. Taking a smaller breath was much more pleasant, even if it tasted like ash. The buzz wasn't horrible though.
“Well, I'd never guess Ms. Goody-Two-Shoes would like a smoke.” The man smiled wide, those eyes glistening in the start light.
Lucy shrugged looking up at the stars, before staring right back at him. “Life seems too short not to try new things.”
He may have been a two-century-old Ghoul but he didn't scare her anymore. There were much worse things out in the wastes.
*Hope you enjoyed the read*
Chapter two here
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The Golden Warrior | Chapter 4
Azriel x Reader
Summary: To you, love was a poison that slowly killed. It was something that could make the strongest of warriors and leaders weak and vulnerable. You had successfully evaded romance and relationships for a century until the day you realized it had been plaguing you from within.
Chapters: 4/?
Words: 5.3k
Warnings: suggestive, 18+, violence, and swearing
*masterlist*
While the Palace staff were working hard doing last-minute preparations for the High Lords and their courtiers, you were running around the castle expending your energy. Your nerves were through the roof, this was the first time you’d meet most of the High Lords as Thesan’s second and you wanted everything to go perfectly. You thought long and hard how you wanted to be perceived and you decided to go with who you were. Someone who was friendly and kind but once you were crossed or tested, they’d find out about that fire within you.
By the time you were bathed and dressed in one of the finest gowns you owned, it was already 1 hour till the High Lords were due to arrive. You had your handmaiden Liss help you sweep your hair into an updo with small pieces of hair framing your face. Standing in front of the full-length mirror, you smiled as Liss fussed over the smallest details of your outfit. Your dress was the color of the light blue tinge of the dawn sky. Tiny straps clung onto your shoulders as the material dipped into a deep V-neck that showed off your skin in a tasteful way. Taking the necklace from your jewelry armoire, you clasped the glowing sapphire necklace around your neck, it was so opulent you almost felt unworthy of wearing them.
As if she could sense your insecurity, Liss gave your outfit an approving nod before leaving your room. She was a no-nonsense faerie who was many centuries old, she didn’t talk much so you knew that her compliment was genuine. You did a little spin and admired the subtle golden glow under your skin. Like most of your wardrobe, the dress was backless so your wings had easy access and wouldn’t get in the way. Thesan had granted you permission to reveal your powers whenever you wanted and at first, you were going to reveal your wings as the other courts arrived. Then you decided that it was best to keep the element of surprise on your side, if anyone decided to pull any stupid shit in this meeting, you would be the one to neutralize the situation.
You meet Thesan, Callon, and the other Peregryn warriors in the grand meeting room, your cousin and Callon kissed your cheek in greeting and your winged friends gave you a nod.
“That dress would look prettier if your wings were out,” commented Wyla.
The other warriors who were clad in their golden armor nodded enthusiastically. You had told the warriors in this room about your plans to finally reveal your true nature and they were excited for you. They knew how exhausting and irritating it was for you to hide your wings, they also hated that you were forced to keep your identity a secret, but they understood why. The warriors were also looking forward to no longer needing to keep such a big secret from the public.
“I wholly agree Wyla, but we must be patient because all will be revealed in due time. Before they get here, does anyone else want to place any bets?” you said as you plucked a grapevine from one of the many food platters. “I already bet Callon 30 gold marks that some stupid male is going to try to fight within the first hour of the meeting. He thinks a fight will break out in 30 minutes.”
The Peregryn warriors chuckled, Thesan was rolling his eyes even though he thought it was funny you were placing bets on the temperaments of the courtiers.
The wind shifted through the arches and a wave of warmth brushed past you, moments later, High Lord Helion and his entourage made their entrance. Thesan introduces you all and Helion takes in your figure and eyes the glowing sapphires sitting on your chest. The High Lord of Day gave you a dazzling smile that almost made you blush before taking your hand and brushing a kiss on top.
“My lady,” he purred. “I can see why Thesan has kept you hidden from court, you are an enigma.”
You rolled your eyes as you bowed, “It’s a pleasure to meet you High Lord Helion, I hope to work with you and your Court in the future.” He was incredibly handsome, there was no doubt about that, but nothing could beat a certain Illyrian you were anxiously waiting to see.
Winter Court arrived soon after Helion and their High Lord Kallias was a lot less pleasant than you expected. He was formal and polite yet ice-cold. His wife Vivianne, on the other hand, was as lovely and refreshing as crisp winter air. You liked her right away and could tell you could be friends in the future. You led the two courts to the refreshment tables where attendants helped them with whatever they wanted. The Palace began conjuring chairs to match the number of attendees around the reflection pool. The conversation was flowing easily between the three courts when you noticed little wisps of smoke moving slowly and low on the ground.
Azriel.
You leave a pleasant smile on your face, but your eyes tracked its every move. The muscle on your jaw began to clench from irritation that Azriel had ignored your warnings not to send his shadows to your court. It seems you are the only one to notice them so once Vivianne had captured everyone in a riveting conversation, you moved towards the shadows. Using the skirt of your dress, you discreetly swished them around to disperse them. Surprised by their detection, they scattered until one wisp stayed behind and curiously wandered up towards your face. Your eyes darted to see if anyone was looking but everyone was too occupied to see it hovering around as if it was studying you.
“I have no idea if you can understand me but if you can, tell your shadowsinger to knock it off, or else I’m going to kick his ass when he gets here,” you said in a low voice. “Dawn Court is secure, and no one is going to ambush you when they get here.”
It disappeared into thin air and just as you walked back to the group of courtiers, you could feel Rhysand’s power before you heard the distant voice of an attendant welcoming the Night Court to Dawn. Your back straightened up as you heard multiple footsteps come closer to the meeting chamber, Thesan had begun to move to greet them, and you followed right behind his heels. Rhysand brought his court with him but the first faerie you noticed was Azriel whose piercing hazel eyes were already looking into yours. You inwardly groaned when you noticed the slight smirk he had on his absurdly handsome face, it looked like the bastard did get your message.
The two High Lords exchanged pleasantries and then Rhys began to introduce you to the other members of the Night Court. The first person you met was Cassian who looked you up and down, no doubt sizing you up to determine how much of a threat you were. The General raised his brow as he took in the five big jewels adorning your neck, his interest piqued as he noticed the power moving beneath them. Rhysand moved your attention to Feyre’s sister Nesta, who looked at you with those cold silver-blue eyes, you could sense there was something powerful brewing within her, something terrifying. Her icy glare took you in as if she could sense all the glamours and shields placed on your body. As if that deadly power within her could sense that poison you and Thesan had kept hidden. You matched her stare with pure steel until she had the good sense to look away first. Nesta was in your territory and estate, even she could respect your hierarchy and authority.
The gorgeous blonde you meet next turns out to be Rhysand’s third-in-command named Morrigan. Unlike Nesta, she greeted you with a warm smile and you reciprocated it deeming it as genuine. After meeting the new courtiers, Feyre stepped up to you almost sheepishly as if she was still embarrassed by the way you had caught her and Azriel trying to break into your library. You gave her a sharp once over with your gaze landing on the crown on top of her head. Rhysand’s scent lingered around her and then a smirk appeared on your lips.
“A few months ago, Rhysand was still looking at you with heart eyes, and now what? You’re wearing a crown and I hear you’re mates? You’ve got him wrapped around your finger, my friend,” you said with a sly grin on your face. Rhysand rolled his eyes as Feyre poked him on the side. You gestured to the wings behind him, “I like the new look, Rhysand. It suits you.”
Thesan forced himself not to laugh at your bluntness. He had been careful not to mention Rhysand’s newly revealed wings but then you came in and talked about them without batting an eye. He supposed he understood your excitement because just like Rhysand, you’ve been hiding a set of wings yourself. Thesan also understood why you were sometimes careless with your words and actions; you could take down enemies without striking or wielding a weapon. You were so gifted; you could do whatever you wanted.
To Thesan’s relief, Feyre and Rhysand laughed at your candor. The High Lord of Night grinned as he thanked you for your compliment. Feyre launched into a story of what had happened, and Rhysand took this opportunity to talk to his brother who was mentally yelling at him to respond.
Are those siphons?! asked Cassian. She’s High Fae…
They look like siphons, she wasn’t wearing those jewels when we last visited, reported Rhysand.
Cassian was now looking at you in awe, Do you see the power moving underneath? Mother above, what is she?
I don’t know, just be on your guard, replied Rhysand.
The two brothers looked over at Azriel who hadn’t said a single mental word, he had his eyes glued on you the entire time. While Feyre had you captivated by her story, Azriel and his shadows were getting antsy to formally greet you. He had received the message you gave his shadow loud and clear, he walked into the meeting chamber with his chest puffed out knowing he had succeeded in agitating you. The goal was to scope out the Palace as discreetly as he could but a part of him had wanted you to notice, hoping to tease and poke fun that he had managed to get through the wards. Azriel had no idea why he thought you would find it funny, the icy glare you shot at him the moment he walked in was sobering.
Once Feyre was done filling you in with what happened to her and Rhysand in the last couple of months, your attention finally shifted to Azriel, and his entire body tensed. He was genuinely scared of what you’d do because you promised to throttle him if you caught him spying again. With calculated moves, he bends to pick up your hand and brushes an attentive kiss on top. He had half expected you to backhand or punch him now that your hands were so close to his face, but you did no such thing. Not with all the other faeries in the room.
“It’s nice to see you again, Lady Y/n,” said Azriel, his voice deep and rich.
You wanted to berate him for using his shadows, to call Azriel and his Rhysand out and brag that their attempts at spying were once again thwarted by you. There were lots of sharp words you wished to say but nothing made its way past your lips. Azriel's scent wafted over you, and you could no longer think about anything but the enticing smell of night-chilled mist and cedarwood filling your senses. Your head tilted back as you glared at the shadowsinger who watched you warily. The best you could do was give a simple “Hmph” that came out from the back of your throat. You decided that you would give Azriel a piece of your mind whether physical or verbal but not yet, not in front of the High Lords.
Thesan and the others watched the strange interaction between you and the Illyrian. Cassian and Callon tensed at the stares passed between you and Azriel, the looks were heated but they weren’t exactly sure if it was from anger or something else. The only thing that stopped your glowering was the arrival of the Summer Court. Tarquin, Cressieda, and Varian strode in and there was immediate tension once they set their eyes on Rhysand and Feyre. Thesan moved to say hello so you and Callon followed, leaving the Night Court to converse with the others.
Your near scowl turned into a smile as you approached your friends from Summer, the princess and prince bowed to your High Lord, and you bowed to theirs. Tarquin was just about to throw a glare toward Night Court, but you swooped in and took his arm in one hand and Cressieda’s in the other. With the blood rubies in mind, you cheerfully greeted them and tugged the pair toward the food. Thesan shot you a thankful look and you winked back as you thrust a glass of fae wine into Tarquin’s hand.
While waiting for Autumn and Spring to arrive, everyone dispersed into groups as they nibbled on food and sipped wine. With you and Thesan distracted by your guests, Rhysand threw a quick sound glamour around him and his inner circle. With the go-ahead from Rhys, Cassian punched Azriel in the shoulder and threw a glance at you in that lovely cerulean gown.
“You didn’t tell me you had a thing with Thesan’s hot second-in-command!” said Cassian enthusiastically.
Azriel carefully looked at Mor to see her reaction, but she wasn’t even near him. She was on the other side of the room animatedly catching up with Vivianne. “I don’t have a thing with Y/n. She’s just mad because she caught me using my shadows on the Palace.”
He knew you were a great warrior; they had told him your story and how you got the scar. Cassian also knew you had the unique ability to detect whenever Azriel was sneaking around so he knew you were somewhat powerful. What his brothers and Feyre failed to tell him was how elegant and beautiful you were, to Cassian you were everything he looked for in a female. If Nesta Archeron hadn’t captured his attention and clawed her way into his heart, Cassian thought you were someone he could love right away. Despite that, he was still a shameless flirt who had a knack for voicing his most immediate opinions.
“Gods,” muttered Cassian. “She’s stunning. Too bad she looked like she wanted to kill you Az, you missed your chance there.”
The shadowsinger's brows furrowed as Rhys and Feyre snickered. For some reason, it bothered him that Cassian was fawning over you. What irritated him even more was the sight of you and Tarquin’s arms still hooked together. You weren’t leaning into him, but the gesture was a little too friendly and Azriel did not like what it may have indicated. Azriel sighed and continued to survey the room, watching for anything amiss, but his gaze kept finding its way back to you. Cassian was right, you were stunning, no—ravishing in that dress. His eyes flickered to the blue sapphires around your neck, they were so similar to the cobalt siphons he wore on his body. Each stone glistened and thrummed with power, the biggest stone in the middle dipped lower on your chest which directed his gaze to your soft, exposed skin. Heat spread through him as he imagined what was underneath the material.
You felt someone’s heavy gaze so your head snaps toward their direction to find Azriel looking at you. He held your gaze for a split second before his throat bobbed and he looked away, starting a conversation with Cassian. You watched as his shadows swarmed behind him, they were on high alert and made the large male look even more menacing. Instead of the black suit he wore to his first visit to Dawn, today he was wearing what you assumed was Illyrian armor. The material was made of leather, and it fit snugly to his body, it allowed you to see every band of muscle that wrapped around his limbs and torso. His siphons were strapped onto his body, you counted seven jewels making you wonder how powerful these two Illyrians were to need seven siphons each to control their power.
Your gaze drifted back to Azriel’s handsome face; it was utterly unfair that someone could be that beautiful. His hair was raven black and slightly wavy; you wondered what it would feel like to run your hands through his hair. His skin was smooth apart from the stubble on his chiseled jaw. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, you lifted your hand to trace the notched skin on your eyebrow and above the cheekbone. You glanced back to Azriel to find him looking at you once again, those cold eyes studying you. Feeling a blush slowly heat your cheeks, you angled the scarred side of your face away from Azriel. Trying your best to cool off, you hardened your features and forced yourself to concentrate on whatever Varian was saying.
High Lord Beron, his wife, and sons finally arrived, and you quickly learned why Thesan arrived with a headache whenever he came back from the Autumn Court. When Thesan introduced you, Beron and his sons barely acknowledged you aside from his wife and eldest son, Eris who gave you a small curt nod. The lack of respect from Beron had your sapphires flaring with power, Thesan shot you a warning look and you could have sworn you heard a chuckle coming from the Night Court. When everyone had settled into their chairs surrounding the reflection pool, you learned about the Book of Breathings, the book Night Court stole from Summer. They tell you about Hybern and you and Thesan share a look, it is what you both feared. The King of Hybern was gathering an army and Rhysand wanted to know who would fight with him.
Suddenly, High Lord Tamlin winnowed himself into the meeting chamber. Tension immediately filled the air and your eyes darted toward Feyre who was doing a phenomenal job schooling her features as she looked at her former lover. Thesan stood up to meet him and conjured another chair into the circle. You had never met Tamlin before and so far, you weren’t getting the best impression of the male, you understood that he was angry at Feyre and Rhysand but to act this brash? You listened to their arguments with neutrality, but the more Spring and Night fought, the more you started to choose Feyre’s side. This was one of the reasons why love was so overrated, it had driven this respectable High Lord into insanity and led him to foolishly let Hybern infiltrate his court. It made him weak.
You looked at Feyre and Rhysand and then at Kallias and Vivianne. What they had seemed sweet, but it just didn't seem worth the extra risks. Do they realize how vulnerable they are? Your cynical thoughts were cut off when you heard Eris start talking, his voice laced with ignorance and venom. He had just insulted Mor and called her a slut, before you could interject, Azriel explodes from his chair at blinding speed. The sound of shattering wood and the crack of marble was the first thing you heard, it was then followed by Cassian swearing and the shouts of surprise. Azriel had somehow gotten through Eris’s shields and was now on top of him, his scarred hands wrapped around the throat of Autumn Court’s heir. You shot up from your seat and Callon immediately grabbed your arm and shoved you behind him, he placed his hand on his sword and used his body to block you and Thesan from the commotion.
Eris was struggling to breathe, his face red as his body thrashed and twisted trying to get away from the shadowsinger. You watched with wide eyes, Azriel was the embodiment of icy hot rage as his knee pressed against Eris’s diaphragm restricting the movement of his lungs. His shadows were swarming and surrounded him as if they were threatening to stop anyone and anything from interfering. Beron started throwing his power toward Azriel, but the fire either bounced toward the reflection pool or Azriel’s shadows tore through the flames until there was nothing but wisps of smoke.
“Enough,” commanded Rhysand but Azriel didn’t budge.
Azriel couldn’t think. He wanted to kill Eris for insulting Mor, his hands tightened around Eris’s throat. Then he heard Feyre, her voice gentle yet commanding, she was telling him to stop. Azriel bent down to Eris’s ear and told him how he would use the Truth-Teller to carve into him and give Eris the slowest and most excruciating death if he ever insulted Morrigan again. Eris Vanserra stopped his thrashing as he looked at the shadowsinger in horror. Azriel finally let go of the redhead’s throat, but his knee was still digging into his torso. Beron and his sons were looking extremely agitated and since Thesan was the host and voice of neutrality, you took it upon yourself to remind everyone whose court they were in.
“This is taking too long,” you muttered. Stepping from behind Callon, you swiftly made your way to the two males on the floor. “You!” you snapped, pointing at Azriel. “Get off him, right now!”
Azriel slowly stood up and blinked at you as if he was slowly regaining consciousness. Rhysand and Cassian looked at you with peculiar expressions on their faces as Feyre extended a hand and slowly led him away. Eris was still on the floor coughing up blood and saliva as you stood over him with disgust written all over your face.
“And you,” you said growling at the red-headed male. “Say anything treacherous like that in front of my guests and I swear to the Mother I will rip your balls off your body and make you eat it. The same goes for all of you. Behave yourselves.”
Your sapphires flickered as you sat back down on the cushioned chair with a huff. Thesan bristled as he waited for everyone’s reactions, thankfully the High Lords and their delegates just nodded. It was impossible for them not to have noticed your siphons flaring as the magic inside threatened to break through but the glowering shadowsinger held most of their attention, scared that his shadows had found a way to get through Eris’s protective shields. You looked at Azriel who was sitting down next to his High Lady, his jaw was set, and he kept glancing at Morrigan who refused to meet his eye. Sadness clouded his features and that was when you understood why Azriel reacted so harshly, he loved her. You looked at Mor once more and this small pang of jealousy rang through you, she was flawless. You wonder what their deal is, you don’t know how Mor could handle the weight of Azriel’s gaze when it was heavy with love and concern.
Thesan discreetly brushed a bead of sweat from his forehead, he was helping you put a damper on your power, and it was requiring more mental effort than usual. Your emotions were running rampant, the control you had on your magic slipping. You were too riled up, too much adrenaline pumping through you. He cast a worried glance toward Callon who was also observing you, Thesan arched an eyebrow and Callon rolled his shoulders back as if to say he was ready for what was to come. They have plans on how to best subdue you without hurting you, something they’ve only had to do twice when you were a young Fae.
Tamlin took it upon himself to make the meeting about his issues with Feyre and Rhysand. The other High Lords and their delegates watched wide-eyed as the three of them verbally tore each other apart. What crossed the line and made you bristle was Tamlin’s incredibly inappropriate remark about Feyre’s facial expressions during sex. Your temper flared and you were about to yell at Tamlin when you noticed there was no noise coming out of his opening and closing mouth. Your head snapped to Rhysand who just watched Tamlin with his sharp violet eyes. You had forgotten he was a daemati, Thesan told you many years ago, and is one of the biggest reasons why you were taught how to shield your mind. Your cousin was scared someone like him would use you for your abilities. Your eyes dart to the other High Lords hoping they weren’t going to do anything brash.
The meeting continued and when the topic came to Hybern and their faebane cache, Thesan brought in Nuan. She introduced herself and explained that her compound could protect everyone’s powers against faebane. Rhysand felt grateful that there was something to defend against faebane. He was the most powerful High Lord and faebane had rendered him practically useless. Everyone was impressed except for Beron who was making his usual sexist and racist comments. Nuan held strong and reassured everyone that her compound was effective. You had to bite your tongue when Beron started insulting your people’s Xian ancestry-- you and Thesan’s ancestry. Thesan gave Beron a warning and the High Lord of Autumn scowled at your cousin. Your sapphires flared once more, and you reached within yourself to clamp down on the grasp you had on your power.
Not now, you said to yourself. No one is in danger at the moment. Control yourself.
That roar of your power was finally starting to calm down when Beron ruined the peace after Feyre asked him to leave. Beron started spouting bullshit about Rhysand being Amarantha’s whore while everyone was suffering under her rule. Tarquin shook his head and told Beron to stop but the red-headed High Lord wasn’t listening. He kept taunting until Feyre had enough, she looked like she wanted to kill him and then she tried. White-hot fire speared across the reflection pool, and you just had enough time to jump back before the flames rebounded from Beron’s shield.
Fuck.
It was chaos, more fire was thrown, and everyone was yelling. Bright piercing light and water were suddenly thrown into the fray. Rhysand was begging Feyre to stop but her eyes were wild, the need to defend her mate overtaking her. The sapphires around your neck began to stutter and dim as you allowed your power to flow out. The sensation of cool golden metal envelops your body as white, and gold feathered-tipped wings burst from your back. Your massive wings flexed outwards after being hidden for months. The weight of a fine golden sword hangs from your hip, but you don’t reach for it. Stepping in between Feyre and Beron, you waved your hand, sending a pulse of nauseating power toward the two fae. It worked slower due to the shields around them, but your power got through and it was enough for both to falter. Both heaved forward as nausea overtook their bodies, this allowed Rhysand to talk Feyre down. The flames, light, and water receded until everyone was staring at the High Lady of Night and the gorgeous, scarred Golden Warrior.
Jaws dropped as their eyes flickered between you and Feyre. The latter was forced to sit on a cushioned chair as the nausea made her skin pale and sweat formed on her brow. Beron looked worse; he was sprawled on the ground trying his best not to vomit in front of everyone. With a small flourish of your fingers, you dispelled the sickness from her and Beron. A breath of sweet relief was heard, both glad to no longer feel your poison. Rhysand took a protective step toward his mate as the High Lords looked at you in horror when they realized what you did. You were standing between the Night and Autumn courts with your arms raised and hands glowing with power.
“Is everyone going to behave from now on?” you asked, voice laced with irritation. “The King of Hybern is planning to take over Prythian. He had already launched attacks on Velaris and Adriata, we have no time to be acting like a bunch of assholes—I’m talking to you Autumn and Spring. Prythian is our home, and it would be a shame to see her fall into the hands of a heinous king.”
Thesan and Callon slowly moved toward you. “Y/n….” said Thesan carefully but you brushed him off.
“We need to be productive because Hybern is gathering its armies as we speak. The more time we waste, the more disadvantaged we’re going to be. If anyone else decides to have a tantrum, know that I can knock you on your ass in less than a second. So-- can we please agree to act like fucking adults for the rest of the day?
Azriel was the first to nod, his eyes big as he took in your powerful figure covered in elaborate golden armor. He could feel that raw, dark power coiling around you and he was sure everyone else had sensed it too. A sense of recognition flowed through him, and he looked at Rhysand who was already staring at Azriel. That overwhelming power they felt from Dawn Court… it was you. That dark power was all you. His eyes scanned those soft white and gold feathers and went over the golden armor that covered your body. Everything clicked into place for Azriel as he looked at you in awe, his shadows swarming around him. You were the mighty and elusive Golden Warrior.
Compared to your cousin, Thesan had this calm and healing aura to him, and they could tell that you were different. Despite the glowing beneath your skin, something about your presence was darker… sharper now that your power was no longer held back. If Thesan was the lovely orange and pink hue of the Dawn sky, you were the remaining blue darkness of night. Your eyes darted to every single faerie in the room waiting for someone to act out, but no one dared. They were in uncharted territory, even the oldest fae in the room had never seen a power like yours. The Peregryn warriors grinned as they watched everyone balk at you, pride running through them as they watched their winged Lady hold control over the room.
***
Once everyone got over their initial shock, the arguing started once more to discuss Feyre and her powers, but things never escalated enough to need interference. You sat on a chair accommodating for wings and watched everyone carefully. Wary glances were constantly thrown at you, but you didn’t mind them, if you were in their shoes, you’d be scared too. The gaze of the shadowsinger made you shift uncomfortably; you were aware his eyes hadn’t left your body since your wings came out. You wondered what he was thinking, was he disgusted or threatened? You allowed your eyes to meet his and he promptly looked away as if he hadn’t been staring. You couldn’t read him, the only sign of what he was thinking was the slight clench of his jaw. Was he mad that you lied to him that day in your library when you told him you had no idea about the power that he felt? Was he upset that you had hidden your wings? He might have been angry, but he had no right to be mad when he was the one who used his shadows to spy on your court when you told him to stop.
You slightly shook your head as you looked away to survey the room. Since when did you care what Azriel thought of you?
#azriel x reader#azriel fanfic#acotar fanfiction#azriel shadowsinger#azriel x you#acotar#azriel acotar#azriel fanfiction#acomaf
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Tw: blood mention, powers, multiple whumpers, character death (not whumpee or caretaker), broken leg, young whumpee
I want a young hero whumpee. They're fighting a group of villian whumpers, getting tossed around like a toy, completely out numbered, out gunned, and bleeding...
Whumpee is tossed in front of a new villian, one that the others have been giving a healthy amount of space and respect. While they haven't been leading the group, but there is no doubt this is the one they're all scared of.
Whumpee trembles as they approach, just barely managing to pull themselves to their knees. Tears in their eyes from the pain and the fear. Their breath hitches as villian reaches down, getting a grip on their shirt and pulling them up to their eye line.
Villian is ready to finish this, that's what they were recruited to do after all. But as villian finally gets their first good look at Whumpee's face their eyes soften. Whumpee is young. Villian doubts they are even old enough to drink.
Whumpee whimpers, trying to get a grip on villian's wrist, rasping as blood runs down from their nose, "Just- G-get it over with."
God. They're a child. They're patched in blooming bruises, oozing blood from at least five places, and trying to break free and stand on their broken leg. How the hell did they get mixed up in this?
Whumpee can't take this. They're squirming under Villian gaze. They can't read it, but they stare back because it's the only part of villian they can see. Everything else is covered by mask, or cloth, or armor. Whumpee feels like they're eye to eye with death. They're terrified, they don't want to die! Will it hurt? How is Villian going to kill them?
Whumpee has a moment of self awareness, they must look so pathetic. They don't want to die a pathetic sniveling mess. Whumpee growls weakly and snarls, "Get it over with!" They scream, tears running down their face. "IF YOU'RE GONNA KILL ME, THEN KILL ME!" They seem to fall weak after that, spent, and shut their eyes tight.
Whumpee trembles in silence until...
"No."
They feel the ground against their legs. Is villian putting them down?
Whumpee opens their eyes the second they no longer feel Villan's grip on their clothes. They try to stand but their broken leg screams, and so do they. They stumble back against an alley wall, and managed to steady themselves. When they dare to look up villian has their back to them, facing the other members of their group.
One of them approaches villian, "What's up Villian. You gonna kill 'em or not?"
"No."
"Well if you're not gonna do it, I've always want to make that miserable runt scream until it can't-"
"I. Said. No."
Whumper 1 started to argue, but whumpee noticed that up and down villians arms ancient markings started to glow and twist through painfully bright neon oranges, yellows, pinks, and greens.
Whumper 1 didn't seem to notice, but the others sure did, beginning to back away, one or two even running.
Whumpee feels their skin prickle, and leans into the wall, guarding their head with the less mangled of their two arms.
"You won't lay a hand them ever again."
Even behind whumpee's eyelids, the light is impossibly bright.
Whumpee isn't sure how long they waited braced against the wall. Their protective stance is only broken by the arrival of a strangely gentle hand on their back.
"Easy now, you need to give that leg a rest."
Whumpee half collapses, half scrambles to the ground, trying to guard against any attacks. "Get the hell away from me!" They snap, taking a blind swipe as their eyes readjust, "T-touch me, and I'll break your goddamn arms!"
Villian withdraws, giving whumpee some space. "I'm sure you will. But before you do, please. Let me help you."
Whumpee shakes their head, showing their teeth in an attempt to hide a wince, "You were about t-t- to kill me."
Villian seems to curl inwards, looking away, "I was."
After a few moments of waiting for something else, and not getting it, whumpee asks, "Why didn't you?"
Villian takes their time on this one, trying to figure out how best to answer, ultimately sighing and shrugging, "Because I couldn't."
The silence returns, and again whumpee gets frustrated with it first.
"R-real talkative- aren't 'cha?"
Villian huffs a quite laugh that reflects in their eyes. "I suppose not. Now, will you let me patch you up?"
"Long as you don't incinerate me, yeah. I guess."
#whump#whumpee#caretaker#whumper#whump prompt#whump scenario#whump drabble#super hero whump#hero whump#hero whumpee#villian caretaker#multiple whumpers#whumper turned caretaker#defiant whumpee#tw broken bones
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